


Insult-Gift

by StarwolfDevision



Category: AU - Fandom, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarwolfDevision/pseuds/StarwolfDevision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-war Cybertron, where the Autobots won the war, there was a million years of tentative peace with the Decepticons, at least those not tried and found guilty of war-crimes. Though, gradually more and more restrictions were placed on the 'Cons until some wound up with price tags on them, and before long, laws declared all Decepticons to be chattel slaves. Two million years of such slavery have passed. The Autobots have built a thriving society where they are abundant but things are not as great as they may seem, for some, namely the slaves. Though even the society of the Autobots themselves does not have the peace and potential that it could have. There is one little Seeker who wants to change things and put an end to the enslavement of his "peoples" and show the Autobots a better way of life. Will he get the chance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Insult-Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is co-authored by my roleplay partner, Prowls-Analysis, found here: http://prowls-analysis.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> and while I keep most of it intact exactly as it was, there is a little bit of editing on some parts to make it make more sense or clarify things-especially on my posts. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the story.

Insult-Gift

 

“Internal Social Indexing” didn’t sound scary. It brought to mind a dusty office full of dusty bots who spent all their time cataloguing all the ways society was going downhill and writing reports that no one ever read. The name was chosen for that innocuous sound. It was also the fortieth name the department had had since Jazz had started working for it. No matter what you called it, though, everyone knew what it did. It made sure no one ever challenged the status quo.

Jazz was good at his job. He knew how to find out what the higher-ups wanted to know–and how to keep his mouth shut about what those higher-ups got up to when they thought no one was looking. He’d managed to keep his rank and his Spark a lot longer than most bots in the division. Still, he had enemies. Most of them had more to lose by making a move against him than by leaving him where he was, but some felt a need to remind him of how much he was hated from time to time.

So when he stepped off the elevator and saw the insult-gift sitting outside his apartment door, it wasn’t a total surprise. It was, however, the most elaborate tangible insult anyone had ever taken the trouble to arrange for him.

For one thing, it was alive.

The “present” waiting outside Jazz’s home was a very small Seeker, sloppily painted in gaudy, tasteless colors and patterns on top of active rust patches and worn-out joint seals–then polished to a high sheen, as though the work had been earnestly selected and done with Jazz’s taste in mind. The little slave lay on his back in a cage, his sensitive wingtips punched with triple holes and threaded to the floor of the cage with barbed chain. He was blindfolded and gagged, with an audio disruptor clamped around his head. Shackles and chains so heavy as to be ridiculous bound the captive’s arms and legs into immobility, folding him into a position that bared his groin and presented his valve to any and all at just the right height for a bot Jazz’s size to use comfortably. Someone had already taken advantage of the gift–the slave’s abdomen was swollen with (please Primus let it be only) sire-fluid, some of which was leaking out from the overpressure on strained chamber seals. 

All told, it was an extravagant, multi-leveled, thorough insult. Jazz just stood there staring at the whole presentation for a long moment, waiting for his brain to get the gears unstuck and decide how to react. One of his hands reached out and prodded the vision of abject humiliation, just to see if it would puff into smoke and disappear.

What happened several hours previously:

Devision was purchased by an unknown Autobot, who was cloaked in a way so as to be hidden, un-seen and thus unrecognizable. If he spoke at all in his commands towards the very run-down dirt-cheap Decepticon slave, he was utilizing a voice-changer so as to disguise his own voice. The voice that he did hear was garbled and hard to hear. Telling him what to do and how... as he was purchased, and led out of the slave market, collared and chained and never given anything but harsh treatment. Dragged along practically, as it were. 

Subjected to a new paint job that was terrible, in horribly mismatched colors. Making him look more like a terribly poor-taste country patchwork-quilt. Oh how he longed for his once-gorgeously beautiful royal blue and royal-purple finish! The one that was so shiny and caught not only his fellow seekers optics, but fellow Cybertronians of any stripe as well... But those days were long ago. 

Gagged, then blindfolded, and having an audio-disrupter placed on his helm. If that wasn't enough, the poor little seeker was put into exceptionally heavy chains, and held in place by said chains, so he would not squirm whilst his wings were clamped tight so he could not move them any. Exceptionally sensitive wingtips forced to have holes punched into them, screwing up the very sensitive wiring within. Barbed chains threaded through, escalating the pain the little seeker would feel. Not heading the little slave's screams of agony, as the cloaked Autobot continued... strapping the seeker into a cage. Arms and legs strapped in an uncomfortably tight pose. 

His legs had been spread and held in place by a pair of spreader bars. One set at the knees, one at the ankles of the unfortunate. Lifted up and back, to be sure to leave him exposed with as much of a view of the tight little valve, with an expansion ring set within his valve to hold him open, expandable to where any sized spike could push into the unwilling, unfortunate. Hours, he had been like that, left only an hour after Jazz had left for the day’s work. 

A few unscrupulous neighbors had taken the time to investigate and have a go at the unfortunate helpless seeker. Muffled cries to be heard from him, not that it helped any. No one had any pity or kindness for the tiny thing. Tears would have streamed and stained the little seekers faceplates, not that anyone could have seen-or cared.

(Back to Current time):  
Then, after what had felt like ages... an uncertain touch was felt on his pede by an unknown someone. A very-slight flinch and soft whimper was the only response. Garbled, as it were, from the gag.

Jazz jerked his hand away at the muffled cry. “Okay,” he said to no one. “Okay,” he repeated in a steadier voice. “You’re real.” And given what the abused Seeker was there for, there was almost certainly at least one camera nearby, so the sender of the insult could enjoy the look on Jazz’s face and whatever he did to the little slave to vent his fury. Therefore Jazz schooled his face into an expression of slightly scornful amusement and unlocked the door to his apartment, picking up the cage and its prisoner and carrying them inside to the privacy of his quiet, shielded, and dubiously legal workshop. The cage covered most of the largest bench Jazz had, but its locks were cheap and easy enough to cut off. Once he could reach the captive’s head, Jazz peeled off the blindfold and greased the audio muffler until it slid off, restoring Devision’s hearing. 

“Hey,” the Autobot said softly. “I’m gonna get you outta this. I’m gonna try real hard not to hurt you. Anything in your mouth broken, or anything I should know before I get that gag out?”

The little seeker blinked as light flooded his optics. He shook his helm, in a negative. Whimpering softly. There was little the little slave could do. He was trapped, immobile and completely helpless. Afraid of those who had hurt him. Afraid of this new Master. Though he seemed nice enough. Though that could just be a trick. Others had been falsely kind before. How was he to know that this one would not have been the same? His gift was useless in this, he wanted to know what this Master would want from him, if he would mistreat him as the others had done, or what he intended him for... but he got nothing. 

“Good. Okay, here we go.” Jazz murmured soothingly as he worked, cutting the gag loose from its straps and carefully moving lips away from the worn dental plates–his present was either older than his frame design suggested or he’d been harshly used by someone in his past–to make sure that when the gag released, it wouldn’t pinch or scrape and cause more pain. Jazz kept his feelings deep and quiet for the time being. He could go beat the scrap out of some practice droids after his new property’s suffering was eased. 

Or maybe he’d find the camera, and concentrate on tracking down the one who’d left a living thing–sure, a Seeker, but Seekers had Sparks, after all–deliberately exposed. Then there was the question of who made use of Jazz’s present before he got there. Jazz didn’t normally have much sympathy for ‘Cons. He’d seen too many of his buddies die in every way but peaceful to have a problem with making Decepticons do the heavy and dirty work. But this–this was something else.

“Easy,” he murmured softly as he lifted the gag free. He set the thing aside and rubbed the slave’s cheeks and jaw gently. “Easy now. Ol’ Jazz is gonna take care of ya, read?” He let the smooth musical tones of his youth in the Kirialis District flow free, instead of restricting them to a soft accent as he usually did. “Gonna get those wings un-wired, put on some grease to chill out that pain-fire.” Not his best effort by any stretch of the imagination, but he doubted his audience was in any state to care about improv style.

"Y...yes... Master..." The little seeker whispered, almost inaudibly. His own voice softer, slightly musical too, and far sweeter than one might expect for a 'Con. The smooth voice of the Autobot called Jazz calmed the seeker. "Okay." The little seeker said softly, again in a barely audible whisper. Shy and fearful of the unbinding procedures. But aware that it needed to be done. He would be better off without all the restraints and everything that hurt and ached him now. He then hummed softly, to try and distract from the pain and fear.

Jazz cut the barbs off, then manipulated the chains through the torn wings by lifting them and guiding them cautiously with his fingers rather than letting them drag across painful raw edges and exposed nerve wiring. He was similarly cautious and patient in taking the cage apart and using prodigious amounts of fuel wielding a fine-grained laser to cut chain links to pieces. He added an occasional harmonizing note to Devision’s humming, but didn’t seem to notice he was doing it. Finally there was just the expansion ring, and Jazz didn’t touch it right away. Instead he put a hand on Devision’s chest and asked, “You want me to try and get that ring out, or wait for the doctor? I’m gonna call a cab and take you anyway, but if you don’t want to wait I’ll do my best.”

“I… I… um… I wanna have it removed now… it’s hurting me…” The little Seeker whined, whimpering softly. Devision locked his optic’s with Jazz’s, he did not like the idea of the rings removal but he needed it out as soon as possible. Staying calm, he went back to his soft humming, it was a self-soothing method the little Seeker often used to comfort himself. At least, when Masters or Mistresses were not around or around those that did not mind.

Jazz’s optics were only the faintest of glows behind his dark visor, but his expression showed sober acceptance of the decision and the trust it put in him. He took the time to dunk his hands repeatedly in cleanser, then used a little painkilling grease around Devision’s overstretched valve before he started trying to find its release panel. The light, probing pressure in and around the ring, which was far too big for a bot Devision’s size even when fully collapsed, was enough to make Devision writhe and try to escape the pain out of pure reflex. Jazz didn’t hit the slave or even raise his voice. He just waited, then lifted Devision back into place and tried again, offering soothing nonsense in a chorded singsong and using more painkilling grease whenever he touched a spot that caused a whimper. He worked and rocked and wriggled until the ring began to slip, then finally popped out all at once, still fully expanded to accommodate the largest of Jazz’s opportunistic neighbors. Jazz caught the ring in his lap with a surprised squawk, then tossed it aside in favor of trying to clean his new slave’s valve and massage it as it sluggishly sagged and retracted toward closing. “Poor little flapper,” Jazz thrummed gently. He measured Devision’s girth with his gaze, then ran one hand over the tightly-stretched gestation mesh straining against the fluid pressure inside. “Was it just one?”

Whimpers escaped the little Seeker as he was worked over. Occasionally a few yelps of pain as well, along with the writhing to escape the pain. When the ring finally popped out, Devision gasped and whimpered softly in relief. Though he still was sore and in pain all over, from too long cramped in the cage in that unflattering, uncomfortable position. Wings ached just as much as his valve did. He shuddered from the painful memories.

"N...no...m...more than one." The little Seeker managed to squeak out. Trembling a bit. Thinking over just how many might have had him.

“Thought I had classier neighbors than that,” Jazz said quietly. “You ever carried before?”

“Yes…” Devision said softly. “More than once.” He added with a softer tone than before.

“Good–least this isn’t your first time.” Jazz patted Devision’s aching belly. “I just called up a ride and the clinic–gonna get you checked out and taken care of. What’s your name, little guy?”

“Devision, but spelled with a De instead of di… “ Devision said in a soft-spoken reply. As he was a soft-spoken little Seeker. Nodding in understanding, the little Seeker just kept violet optics locked on the glow of Jazz’s optics hidden behind the visor.

“Okay. I’ll ask you other stuff later, but for now, it’s time to talk to medics.” He didn’t ask whether Devision could walk. He wrapped him up in a worn shipping blanket, pocketed the incriminating expansion ring, and carried his neatly packaged slave to the droid taxi that arrived outside the balcony of Jazz’s apartment and mindlessly flew them to the most high-class slave clinic Devision had ever seen, or even dreamed of. It was spotlessly clean and well-lit, the equipment scrupulously maintained though old, and the berths were large and comfortable enough that even Autobots would have considered them acceptable. Were it not for the presence of restraint loops on the walls and the collars on the patients, the place would have passed for a clinic for middle-class Autobots.

The medic who examined Devision didn’t hurry and wasn’t rough in his examination. He did talk to Jazz as though Devision didn’t understand or have a mind, but every medic did that, even the ones who were Decepticon slaves themselves.

“He’s way behind on routine maintenance and cleaning,” the medic stated as he shone a light down Devision’s throat. “There are some tears in this fuel intake line–needs to be replaced before those turns into major leaks. Bad case of grit concretion around the tank opening, too–we can clean that out. He might be all right with just a system flush, but if the tank’s that badly caked then there’s probably build-up elsewhere, too. A Seeker this size cakes up easily, and if he’s carrying it’ll happen all the faster.” He paused to look at Jazz, with his hand still keeping Devision’s mouth wedged open. “It might be cheaper on the day to feed him the low-quality stuff, but in the long run you’re better off putting at least 45-grade into him and flushing him every year or two.”

 

"Mhmm." The little 'Con managed to say, knowing that there would be likely numerous questions later. Some Masters wanted to know more then others. It was the way things were. Some wanted know practically the whole history of their slaves lives, others not so much. Just what tasks they had performed in the past and any usable skills they had, if that even. Most did not care for knowing much more beyond the most basic. Many did not even ask for the designation of the little Seeker, instead, giving him whatever name they saw fit to call him by and expecting him to answer to it obediently.

The shy little Seeker just looked around nervously and kept quiet, though he looked longingly at the sky-it had been ages since he had been able to fly-and he missed the feel of wind under his wings. Though at least seeing the sky was a slight comfort to the little jet.

Then there was the clinic, what struck the little jet most was that it was about as far from a chop-shop clinic (like most of the ones he had been to in the past) as one could get. No rusty old instruments. No improvised medical equipment or tools. Everything was clean and almost-inviting (if it did not carry the slightly detectable odor of despair) and carry the sounds of the occasional screaming or sobbing slave-patient. Though that was, thankfully, marginal. It seemed most who brought slaves here had the sense to treat them decently. Care for them, even, much like a pet.

 

The lack of being acknowledged as if he had a mind of his own was not new, by any means. And, in some ways, it was better that way for the shy jet. He did not like a ton of invasive or overly-personal questions. Especially when he did not always have the answers. Time tended to get away from him as a slave with no means of controlling his own situation. So knowing how long he had last had one procedure or another, often was a question he could not answer. And often, not having an answer or giving a satisfactory answer-would lead to mistreatment from Autobot Masters and Mistresses. Thus, the little 'Con preferred not being asked at all. Not that his preferences were ever taken into account and consideration before.

To most Autobots, he was just perceived as a 'thing'. An object no more capable of feeling than a wrench might be capable of feeling. Even the Autobots that knew better, still often acted otherwise, and the laws of this world only supported that stance. Few, if any, spoke out against the wrongs of slavery. Or of keeping 'Cons as slaves. The few that did, however, fared terribly. Though that varied from location to location on how badly they fared. Many were just ignored. Others, were socially and financially ruined for voicing their opinions. At least, so he had heard from Masters of the past when discussions of slaves being set free or having rights came up... a topic, that naturally, was suppressed in discussions when slaves were actually present. The Masters were afraid, most likely, of the slaves getting the wrong ideas. Afraid of a revolt. Another possible war-even? Thus the little Seeker only knew bits and pieces of whatever he could happen to overhear before being discovered (or sent away when such topics came up) and what he might be able to have intentionally eavesdropped in on. So he knew there were those out there that saw evil in slavery. Just not so much who or where or what the abolitionists were about.

Having the exam go on, was uncomfortable at best. But the little Seeker did not fight nor fuss. He had learned that doing so, in the past, meant bad treatment. He just kept quiet and allowed whatever was to happen, happen. Hating being so helpless for the umpteenth time. Yet, what could he do? He was just a slave after-all. Worse still, a very small one at that. Now and then he might whimper or squirm slightly, but beyond that he was no trouble. He was grateful for a seemingly kind medic. Most of them in the past were overly forceful and rough. Thankfully, not the case here. So he tried to remain calm, tried to do what he could to make it easier and over with quicker. Or just lay still and let them do what they needed. Neither helping nor hindering the Medic's efforts. Sure, he heard and- mostly- understood what was discussed. He just did not say anything. Even though questions formed in his processor.

Whether out of compassion or just to prevent squirming and noise, the medic gave Devision a sedative before examining his valve and probing into his gestation chamber. It wasn’t strong enough to knock the slave out entirely, but it did pull him away from the immediacy of his body and into a sort of mildly-curious lassitude. He felt the medic’s hands and instruments working between his legs and inside him, but it was all right. It didn’t really hurt that much, and other things floating through his processing cores seemed much more interesting than putting in the effort to move to make a sound. When he later tried to recall what he’d been thinking about while lying on the table, he could only summon up vague smears of light and distorted sound. Someone else had taken over the job of thinking for him, so he was free to lie there in unfocused, drifting bliss and let the world happen to him. He didn’t notice when the sedative feed was changed to a true anesthetic, and he fell asleep to be taken for surgery.

When consciousness returned he found himself wrapped and cushioned into a “Seeker nest”. Unlike most such things he’d ever been locked or cowed into, this one had actual padding, clean and warm and supporting even his wings in weightless comfort. His enormous belly was propped and nested so the weight of the fluid in him wasn’t straining his frame and hydraulics, and his arms and legs were individually braced and laid in neutral positions to spare his aching joints. There was a thin blanket draped over his head–the idea that covering a Seeker’s optics and muffling his hearing kept him calm was firmly seated in Autobot common belief–and the scent of antiseptics and wound sealant in his olfactory sensors. He was sore and immobilized, but he was alive and imprisoned in softness and warmth, his body surgically repaired and cleaned, and as his head cleared a little more he distinguished his new owner’s voice among those buzzing in the room beyond his nest.

Sore but relatively free from pain, he trilled softly and purred in the comfort and warmth. Happily content for the kindness shown to him now. Glad for whatever minor comforts or niceties he received at all. The darkness was no bother. He was used to that. Quite often, he had been left alone in a dark rooms many times before. Often in fact. In far worse conditions. He could hear the voice of his new Master in the other room, but was unconcerned. For the first time in a long, long, time he felt safe.

 

He may have floated off again for a minute or an hour, but he next felt an Autobot hand stroking his chest and heard a voice saying, “–Seeker purr. They only do it when they feel healthy and safe, or to soothe their Sparklings and encourage them to feed. If it bothers you you can try to train him to hum quietly instead, but it’s hardwired instinct and it’s a hard thing to break.”

“Not like I mind hearin’ the little guy’s happy,” Devision’s new owner answered, his voice pitched as though he thought Devision was still asleep. His hand moved over Devision’s body, stroking and petting…and complacently laying claim to everything it touched. Kind as Jazz might be, he was still an Autobot and he had a right to do whatever he pleased with his property. “How long until I can take him back home?”

“That depends on him,” the medic’s voice answered. “He’s been neglected for at least the last few vorns, and from the looks of it he’s been bred, hard and too often, off and on longer than that. A Seeker this size really shouldn’t be carrying more than two at a time, or more than twice a vorn, if that much.”

“But we got no way to tell how many’re in there yet, huh?”

“Not yet. Any potential Sparklet nodes are far too small and weak to see in his Spark corona. Give it ten or twelve days. If we’re lucky most of the nodes will merge or reabsorb and we’ll have only one or two actual Sparklings gestating while he’s recovering.”

“How lucky have we gotta be for that to happen?” Jazz’s hand smoothed along Devision’s right wing.

“Pretty d@mn lucky, if you want the honest truth. With as much fluid as there was in him, and the fact that he lost some before you brought him in, I’m guessing he was used anywhere from four to seven times before you took him inside. As small as he is, one Sparking by an ordinary sized mech could strike four or five nodes in him. Even considering his general condition and the probable incompatibilities of most of the nodes, we’re probably talking five drawing Sparklings in at least three carries in succession. I’ve seen it go as high as nine in cases like this, but those were all on bigger frames.”

 

“Five.” Jazz said softly.

“You don’t have to keep them long,” the medic said after a minute. “You can sell them as weanlings after 48 days.”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed, distracted. “Right now I’m more worried about keepin’ this little guy goin’. Like you said, he was in pretty bad shape, and it takes a lotta energy to make a Sparkling.”

“We’ll keep him on the spinal hose feed while he’s here, and send you home with a supplement package,” the medic reassured him. “It’s going to be a lot of work and expense on your part at first, but it’ll be worth it when he gives you healthy Sparklings. The little ones are popular right now–that kite-Seeker thing.”

Hearing the voices did not bother the little Seeker. Though he still trilled softly, he also listened quietly a bit but did not speak. It was not his place to speak unless spoken to, as he had been told and taught so long ago. Though the touch at first startled him, but he was over it in a klik. Especially once his being petted began. That created a slight trill of delight followed by increased purring, a bit louder now. Soaking up the attention eagerly for a little Seeker who had been so neglected and mistreated in his past. Indicative that maybe there had been a longing, long unfulfilled, for attention. He had been far too lonely for so long.

Jazz and the medic talked a while longer, while Jazz’s hand continued to stroke and rub his new slave, massaging him and (probably) unaware that he was surrounding the buzzing Seeker with his scent. The olfactory and other air-sampling sensors of fliers were on average much more sensitive than that of ground-running Cybertronians, but Autobots downplayed the power of those senses much as they downplayed the value of flight modes. Therefore Jazz most likely wasn’t thinking about the fact that every stroke was leaving a light sheen of chemical signals on and around Devision’s body. His individual combination of odors floated on the warm, relaxed Seeker from wingtips to elbows and jaw to knees, entering Devision’s brain to be catalogued beside the other mostly-pleasant sensations of the moment.

The purring continued, even the voice of his new Master was soothing to the little seeker and he started to sing softly in Ardenian, a further sign of his contentment. The language unfamiliar to any Cybertronian but him, as Devision had been (as yet) the only Cybertronian known have made it as far out in the universe (unless others have been there in the time of his being a slave) as that planet. The song itself was beautifully exotic, earthy yet ethereal.

“Now that’s something you don’t hear very often,” the medic said after a moment of stunned surprise. He reached in and patted Devision’s blanket-draped head. 

“No kidding,” Jazz murmured. He kept stroking Devision’s lower back. “You mind if I leave a recorder in with him?”

“How about we put a microphone in the corner here where he can’t get to it, and you leave me a copy of whatever he sings when you take him home?”

“Deal.”

Jazz stayed for a while, petting Devision and listening to the sounds he made, but was eventually shooed out and sent home by the staff. Tight-fitting cage-mesh lids were latched down on top of nest crates, bedtime medications were distributed, and uncooperative patients were sedated and chained for the night. The clinic went dark and quiet, only one or two staff on duty to keep watch on the sleeping slaves and pets.

Devision sang quietly, not minding the audience, as they did not yell at him to stop or hit him for his singing. So he kept it up as a sort of self-soothing and expression of his contentment. He kept up the soft melodies as he was petted by his new Master, until he naturally trailed off, falling into recharge while Jazz was still there. Thus he was completely unaware of his new owner being shooed out and the mesh lid closed on him. Not that he would have minded it all that much, as he was relatively pain-free and secured in comfort and warmth. That alone, made up for most anything else that happened around him. He did, however, return to purring softly as he slept.

His gestation chamber ached less when he woke–his systems had processed and evaporated more of the siring fluid, easing the pressure. The lid was still on his nest, but there was a scent of energon near enough to his face that it was obvious someone had lifted it enough to put a spill-proof suction bottle where he barely had to move his head to get his mouth on it. The blanket was still draped over his head, but he could hear more activity. His owner’s voice wasn’t among the chattering murmurs, but he was still warm and comfortable.

Drawn to the smell and feeling the need to fuel, the little Seeker sipped as needed and desired. When not sleeping or feeding, he hummed or sang softly. Much of the time in Ardenian-but not always. Often the Ardenian Ballads and the poetry of Ardenia put to musical nature. Sometimes he sang songs from some of his favorites of Earth, that he had learned from back when he had been on Earth. Though he only sang when he thought no others (Autobots, anyway) were near. Before long, though his singing broke into tears, along with whimpers and a pained keen-not from physical pain- but from the deep hurt in his spark. Sobbing, he sipped at the Energon before him as he whimpered, eventually tiring himself out and falling into a much-less restful and more fitful recharge. Exactly how long it lasted, he would have no clue about. Twitching and making small movements and whimpers or soft but distressed keening as he rested.

 

Someone–an Autobot to judge by the scent and the weight of the touch–reached in and stroked Devision’s wings and back, murmuring soothing nonsense for a while before lifting him out of his nest. He was blindfolded and held in soft but strong restraints while medics examined him, rubbing his chest and sides every time he whimpered or flinched.

 

Eventually, the majority of his cries died down and he rested peacefully again, as he had in the night. Purring once again with the petting and slept through the exams. His frame demanded as much sleep as possible now, given all that he had been through. And the assault on the little Seeker only aided that need. Instinct and the depression that set in making him rest. His healing would likely be much faster the more rest he could get. Though quieter, he did still cry tears now and then, his venting and air intakes hitching through his soft little sobs.

Purring won him more petting, and he was tucked back into his nest by gentle hands. Some time later, his new owner arrived to check in on him–and deliver a present. At least, he called it a present. It was in fact a collar, a mark of ownership. It was, however, lighter, smoother, and much classier than the plain industrial collar he’d worn before. It snugged Dev’s neck without pinching, and it was padded inside so that it wouldn’t rub or cut him every time it was tugged upon by an impatient owner. Jazz certainly considered it a present–he slipped it over Devision’s head and adjusted its closure with confident pride.

 

Devision awoke when he felt the collar slipped over his helm. A soft little “Mer?” That was both a question but not at the same time. Since it was not an actual word in any tongue. The collar was a typical thing for Decepticon slaves to bear. So this was nothing new. Though the little Seeker purred his appreciation of having it not pinch or cut or be uncomfortable in any way. He had had the industrial style collar for so long. This was definitely an improvement. In the past, some of his collars had been even worse than the industrial ones. Ones with spikes that dug into the neck, or chains that chafed and pinched... not at all pleasant when tugged on by an impatient Master or Mistress.

“You’re welcome, little guy,” Jazz answered amiably. He ran a hand over Devision’s head and down his back to his wings. “I got all the registrations and papers on you now, too. It’s all official–you’re mine. How you feelin’, huh?” His hand moved around Devision’s side and up his chest to rub his throat. “They treatin’ you right here?”

“N...not so good. Not hurt pain-wise... but...” The little Seeker whimpered softly, cutting off because how could he possibly describe the hurt in his spark after all that’s been done to him...? How could any Autobot ever know let alone understand? They did not have to worry about the things that the Decepticon slaves worried about...how would they ever know what it was like? There was no way any Autobot, no matter how seemingly kind they were, could ever... The little Seeker trembled. They were frightening. Even if they were nice. “Yes, they’ve been gentle with me.” He stated after a few moments of thought.

“That’s how it’s gonna be for you,” Jazz told him softly, rubbing down Devision’s chest to his still-strained belly. “You’re mine now, and I’m going to take care of you right.”

“That’s good.” The little Seeker said softly. Though, inwardly he wondered if it was to be true. He had been told such things before. And every Decepticon knew Autobots could not be trusted, after-all. No one could. Though they may say otherwise, and act like you’ll be with them forever. Though they may tell you that the adore you. Some even saying they love you. Yet it never proved to be true. So why should this Jazz be any different? Still, it was nice to believe the lies while they still seemed to be true. But lies, they still likely were. A few tears surfaced again though he did purr a bit at the attention.

Jazz rubbed and stroked his pet for a while without speaking, then told him, “They had to strip you to metal to get all the rust, and they don’t do more’n primer here. You gotta have a good sealing coat at least. I know some guys who do really nice custom work. I did a favor for them a while ago, an’ they still owe me. I’m gonna pick out a few of the details, but as long as you’re here, you think about what you want your base color scheme to be. ‘F it’s not bad enough to make a lamppost cry and doesn’t have too much fancy stuff I’ll tell the guys to go ahead and do it.”

 

“So I can be royal blue again?” The little Seeker chirped, cheerily. The little Seeker purred softly. “I wanna be pretty again…” 

Jazz grinned, and stroked Devision’s cheek. “Yeah, you can be pretty again. I’ll get ya a color-swatch pack to look at. There’s a lotta shades of blue, and the guys I’m talkin’ about can do any of ‘em–then spectrum-blend ‘em, saturation-fade ‘em, or crystal-fan ‘em, and that’s just for one color. I’m gonna put some black and white on you, but think about what else you want.”

“Okay.” The little Seeker purred contentedly. “Are they professional finish artists then?” Devision asked curiously, interest piqued a bit.

“One of ‘em is. The other one’s a master finish designer, and he’s got the masterpiece certificates to prove it.” Jazz grinned in humor and affection. “He won’t even start rough sketches until he’s taken a micron-detail full-body scan while you’re in motion. You gotta be patient with him, but when he and his brother are done you’re gonna spend the next week or two in front of a mirror trying to convince yourself you really do look that good.”

 

“Wow...that would be... amazing...” The little Seeker piped up excitedly, purring even more at the news. He could not help it. It was the best news he had heard in a long time. And he could not help but be eager. Though he was not sure he should be so expressively verbal about it. “S...sorry...M..Master..” Hopefully, the apology would keep him from trouble. He whimpered softly, a bit fearfully, and trembled a little.

"Nothing to be sorry about,” Jazz answered, relaxed and jovial. “Only natural to get excited when you’re planning a style upgrade. And I like that ‘Seeker purr” thing–you do that whenever you want, it’s a good vibe.”

“’kay...” He calmed down a bit more since the mood of his Master seemed good. He purred even more since he was content that he would be made pretty again, in due time. Looking forward to that time. Oh, how it had been a long time since he had had something to look forward too! 

It was two more days before Devision’s doctors decided he was ready for release. His gestation chamber had shrunk with the processing of most of the fluid–there was still an obvious bulge, but the pressure was back down to what his body could easily handle naturally. He was still sore in multiple places but strong enough to walk, though a bit gingerly. The patches on the holes in his wings had taken and were meshing in nicely–he would be safe to fly in another few days, if his owner chose to let him.

He slept most of the time, as the demands of healing required the rest. Otherwise, his time at the clinic was much the same. Singing softly when no Autobot was around, and not loud enough to be heard by the others-most likely. Since he was shy and afraid of getting negative attention. Mostly, however, he hummed or purred to himself. It and sleep were all he really could do, restrained and sore as he was.


	2. Home not Quite Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Devision's first day home and first outing with Jazz, giving an insight into his new life.

Jazz carried his slave home wrapped up in a blanket in his lap. He entered his apartment and put Devision in a Seeker nest set up in the living room. “There now, little guy. This is home.” The nest did have a lid, but it was folded aside. Devision could easily sit up and look around, and with caution for his sore body get up and explore. Jazz massaged his pet’s wings for a minute or two, then stood and went to a large screen set on a wall. He whistled a quick arpeggio, and the screen lit up, offering a touch screen. Jazz chose a dance show to watch–and joined in, stepping lightly and moving easily around the room with the music.

Devision did sit up and watch, curiously. There was a time-back when he was free, that he would likely have joined the dance. But since he was a slave, he did not chance it anymore. Ages ago, he loved to dance. Now-what did it matter what he loved? No Autobot cared. The bitter thought brought him to tears, and he ducked down into his nest, curling up to sob softly. He missed his freedom. Missed the days when he had his own autonomy. When he decided what he did, and no one else. Of course, even when he was a Decepticon Seeker in the war, he had to obey others. He did not like that time at all, either. The Energon-shed... the fighting. He shuddered. He hated those times. 

Jazz noticed the sounds, and stopped his gyrations to sit down by Devision’s nest. “Hey–you need a painkiller? Or are ya just scared?”

“N... no. Yes.” The little Seeker trembled, speaking softly but the bitterness would be evident in his tone. “Not that it matters. Never does. Never will.” Devision muttered softly.Though he feared punishment, should his words offend his new Master. His trembling intensified, and he keened softly his misery. Need and instinct overriding fear of punishment. His tears flowed, unchecked. He could not help it. His bitter little spark ached-almost to where he felt sick in a way no one could reach. There was no cure for for what ailed him.

 

“I’m trackin’ the bot who put you out in the hall like that, and I got a pretty good idea who pumped you full,” Jazz told him. He lifted his pet out of his nest and into his lap. “I’m gonna take care of it. You’re gonna be okay with me, hear?”

 

“Sure.’ He replied with a little less bitterness. He was doubtful, and it was evident. But he said no more. He wanted to be free. Yet, he could not resist the sense of comfort. False, or otherwise. Snuggling into the lap of his Master. Some comfort was better than none at all. Though the tears still flowed, he purred again. An attempt to self-soothe and also seek comfort from his owner.

“I don’t know what it’s been like for you before,” Jazz said as he rubbed and gently massaged the Seeker in his lap. “But now that you’re mine I got some responsibilities, and the Jazz-man don’t take responsibilities lightly. I also got some attitudes to adjust. A bot who uses an insult-gift instead of takin’ me on face to face is a bot who needs some lessons in how to really ruin someone else’s day, if you’re gonna do it.”

 

"Oh? What'cha mean?" The little Seeker asked shyly. Tears had stopped, he looked up at his Master nervously, violet optics quizzically searching the Autobot's features. "What does it mean, insult-gift? That what I am?" He asked, while trying to wipe the lubricant tears away and taking a deep intake. 

 

“The guy meant you to be an insult-gift, yeah.” Jazz stroked Devision’s wings as he talked. “You take something that would normally be a great present, something you’d give someone you respected and liked, then you make it the worst kind you can. Normally, you give a bot a Seeker as a present, it’s a really important and special gift, y’know? Expensive, and there’s the registration transfer forms and the equipment–you give that kind of present for real, you take care of that stuff.”

 

"Giving people away... is... acceptable?" The little Seeker inquired, daring to ask in curiosity. "We're...just a... thing? Stuff... like a chair, or a table?" The little one muttered, "Not good." He trembled, flinching, and looking away-down at the floor, shyly, expecting to be hurt for such an inquiry or opinion.

 

Jazz’s petting slowed, and he didn’t answer immediately. “That’s how it is. I haven’t had a Seeker in a long time–haven’t wanted one. But some bots like having an entourage, and it’s cheaper to buy one then hire it.”

 

“Doesn’t make it right.” The little Seeker pouted, “I was free once.” Devision stated softly. “Maybe it’s easier on the ones who have known nothing else. Possibly. Probably not.” He whimpered and snuggled into Jazz, hoping not to upset his Master. Though a stray tear streaked down his cheek-plate and he went back to purring to try and soothe himself.

 

“When ‘Cons were free everyone had t’ carry high-power weapons all the time and a medic couldn’t leave home without two armed escorts to keep him from bein’ kidnapped or killed,” Jazz said sharply. “I saw a lotta good buddies die in that war. No way am I gonna let anyone bring that back.”

 

“Ya think I didn’t?” The little Seeker shot back angrily. “I lost my Trinemates ta the war! And with them, the protection I had on the Predation...” Glaring and growling a bit. “Not that I wanna see the fighting and Energon-shed again... but... but... this is wrong! Ya think it’s okay to force one’s way with another? Ya think I ever like it? You’d be wrong... I never liked any of it... ever. It hurts near as bad as having one’s wings ripped off! An' it makes ya sick for eons! An' how many ‘Cons have been beaten to death, worked to death, raped to death, left to starve to death-since our enslavement began, can you tell me that? How many innocents have been born into this life-who never even were a part of the war but who are mere property for simply existing? Ones who never asked to be alive? I was kidnapped and enslaved-what of that?” Devision got off of Jazz’s lap, backing away in fear but still angry and rebellious.

“Whaddya wanna do about it, huh?” Jazz had gone very still and his voice dangerously soft. “You want me to take that collar off, let you walk out the door? What do you think’s gonna happen, soon’s anyone figures out you’re alone and unclaimed?”

“Mmmm... no. ‘Cause I could end up with with someone way worse....” The little Seeker muttered softly. “Even if it’s too late for me...I... I don’t want my little ones to suffer... I don’t want them to go through what I have.” The little Seeker whimpered. “Don’ wanna have them grow up ta be property...” Trembling far more than he had yet, optics brimmed with tears again. “Don’ wanna have them grow up never to know love... or friendship.” Tears flowing unchecked, he sat down, merely a few feet from Jazz, shaking violently. “Don wanna lose any more to a future that is no future at all.."

 

“I’ll find ‘em people who’ll treat ‘em right,” Jazz said finally. “Turn off the waterworks, will ya?”

“Not so easy...to promise.” Devision shivered, trying to stop the tears. Crying all the time was not gonna help his cause. He knew that. But... they could never know what it was like. “You cannot guarantee that. They could be sold again. Or something could happen to their ‘Owner’ and...” Devision shuddered. Wiping away his tears again for the second time in such a short span of time.. “There is an endless combination and possibility that things would go wrong and lead to such mistreatment.” Devision spoke in a barely audible tone, staring at the floor, a heavy sigh escaped the little one but he forced himself into a false calm. 

He could do that much. He had to. He had to hold on. No change was ever going to come if someone did not try. And he wanted to try. The evils of this world needed to be changed. If no one else saw the need or saw fit to do it... then he would make the effort, slave or not. 

Too shy to walk over, Devision crawled towards Jazz, sitting down in front of him. ‘Sorry...I...it’s just... it’s been far too long...” The loneliness in the little Seeker was yet another reason his spark ached. He looked up at Jazz. “I... I don’t know why... and I’ll probably pay for it later... but... you’re the first that I think would honestly keep to his word.” 

 

Jazz ran his fingers along the edges of Devision’s left wing, down and then back up, reclaiming the smaller bot as his, before he answered. “I won’t lie an’ tell you I’ve never broken my word. ‘m too old for that. But I remember the prices I paid the times I did, an’ when people I trusted broke their promises to me. Don’t wanna go through it again.” He closed his hand around Devision’s wing, just holding him. As long as Devision didn’t try to move away there was no pressure on his wing, no pain. “I got way too many nightmares to trust that a ‘Con who’s pulled the trigger on an Autobot can learn to fly over a road without shooting holes in everyone on it. But the ones who never saw that, never been pounded into stasis or put out for sale–maybe someone can raise those kids better. I’ll make you a deal–you don’t jump around spouting revolutionary stuff in public and getting the wrong people askin’ questions about me, and I’ll find someone to raise the kids in you where they won’t be treated the way you are.”

"Okay. I just hope this is one of the times ya would be keepin' yer word. But... you do realize this world needs to be changed, right?" The little Seeker looked up at Jazz questioningly, searching his Master's expression. "No revolutionary stuff publicly. Got it. For something like that, one would need a real plan of action... not just a sudden rush... dunno what all would be the best way to go about it... but there must be some way..." The little Seeker muttered in a tangent, looking away from Jazz again, staring off into space in deep thought. Before he finally said in a soft whisper. "S...sorry."

“You gotta be careful, talkin’ about that kind of thing,” Jazz said neutrally. “Real careful. Wrong bot heard you say there’s somethin’ wrong with where Decepticons are on the rank ladder, or that maybe some people should get together and try an’ change something…I ain’t got the pull it takes to keep me outta the hot seat, forget about keeping you outta the mnemosurgery research lab.”

 

“Wait...what would they do there...? That does not sound good. Not at all.” Shuddering the little Seeker whimpered, and tried to move closer to Jazz, provided the Autobot allowed him to. “So...only talk of this at home when it’s just us, then? Is that good?” The little Seeker added a purr to soften things. “Mmm... Jazz, do I call ya Master only, or is it okay to call ya by name?” He looked up at his owner questioningly. “An’ for the record, I never killed an Autobot... never directly killed no one... at least... not as far as I know. Maybe some of the ‘Cons on the Predation might of died because of me... but... they...they were vile...” The little Seeker shivered, his tone sad but bittersweet and melodic, in a way. 

“Most of the ‘Cons who lasted more than a few vorns around Megatron were some kinda vile,” Jazz said. “As for the other stuff–when anyone else can hear, I’m ‘Master’ or something like that. When it’s just you, me, and the kids–” he tapped Devision’s chestplate with a fingertip “–you can use my name. But better you not say much of anything out in public. Mnemosurgery’s brain-chopping game. Tickle the circuits this way, poof, you just planted a memory. Tickle ‘em that way, well, guess you just forgot everything you saw that District Controller do in that room under the raceway, didn’t you? Or you could always flip all the switches,” Jazz looked down at his property with a deep frown of warning, “and make a little bot forget everything he ever knew. Read me?”

"Y...yes. " Devision said, trembling fearfully, "Got it. Not somethin' I wanna have happen. Ever." Devision whimpered softly. He shyly moved closer, still whimpering. "Not mad at me are you?" He asked worriedly. Looking up at the Autobot shyly.

Jazz sighed. “Nah, not really. You just hit some old sore spots. You’re okay.” He nudged Devision until the Seeker lay down on his back, then started rubbing him from shoulders to hips, withdrawing into his own thoughts.

Devision allowed himself to be moved and touched, he did not resist it, besides, it wasn’t so bad. He went to purring softly, retreating to his own thoughts as well for a time before he broke the silence.

 

“Um... Jazz, ya got any paints or such? Or would it be possible to get some?” The Seeker asked softly, shyly. Nervous about making such a request but thinking it best to ask then not.

“Just my touch-up kit and some marking paint–but your first appointment with the twins is tomorrow,” Jazz answered, coming out of his own reverie. “You got an itch or something?”

“No.” The little Seeker replied softly. Sighing. Maybe it was not something he could ever expect to do again. Though he missed being an artist. “Nothing like that.”

“Whatcha want paint for, then?” Jazz resumed his rubbing.

“To paint pictures.” The little Seeker replied, purring again. “Used to do so. Miss it loads.” He muttered in-between purrs.

 

“Yeah?” Jazz paused, interested now. “Well, maybe I’ll getcha some brushes, you can see if you still got the touch.”

“Really?” Devision piped up, cheerily, trilling in a happy manner. “That would be so cool!” 

“Yeah, really,” Jazz answered. “Long as you don’t do anything too political.”

 

“Landscapes be okay? Animals? Space scenes?” The little Seeker asked quietly.

 

“Why don’t you do a few before I start crampin’ your style?”

 

“’Kay...” The little Seeker, replied, quietly purring as he let the thoughts simmer. Everything that he learned here, and all the thoughts and memories of his past, and concerns and worries for his people. Seekers, mostly, but Decepticons in general.

 

Jazz eventually picked Devision up and returned him to his nest. He rubbed him some more, then closed and locked the lid for the night.

 

Devision made no reply as he was picked up and put into his nest. He was not tired. So he just lay there curled up, purring to keep himself calm. Stay strong. Be sweet. Never let the fight for right die out. Oh, Primus, give us Optimus Prime back, please... Some how. HE would stand for right. HE would see to it that this oppression ends. I know he would. The little Seeker prayed within his mind, as he sighed heavily. Silently lying there as thoughts were turning over in his processor. 

 

Nightmares haunted his psyche, all the hurts, all the pain... his broken-spark ached so deep it felt a vast cavern of misery. A bottomless pit of pain. Could such deep pain ever truly mend? Could he ever truly heal from the sorrow that plagued him? Could anyone? Memories flashed-terrible ones-and he pushed them away, suppressing them. Not now. Keening softly, the tears returned. Flashbacks, representations of the endless well of grief within the little one’s spark. How could any Autobot, even one as seemingly nice as Jazz, how could he ever be trusted? Despair and hopelessness mingled in a tortured dance within his tortured spark. Partners to love and compassion... empathy and understanding, who split up and paired again with a deep-rooted hate, and frustration and bitterness.

 

The ache in his spark made him feel indescribably bad and the little Seeker whimpered miserably. He knew things would never change. How could it? Those with the power, those who oppressed others, they were never going to willingly give that up. Do they ever really love their “slaves”? Even if so... could it ever be real love?

 

There’s no way. It’s not possible. Autobots can't be trusted! Is that true? Is it really?

 

Hatred burned for the Autobot Masters. A hate that burned like a red star... burning in his little spark. Though the hate that burned within did not just exist for the Autobot oppressors. There was some reserved for the Decepticons who had hurt him too. The ones who he had once known. The ones that once bullied him, and... the one that took his wings. 

Ages seemed to have passed, the little Seeker did not know how long for certain, as he lay awake in his silent suffering. Eventually, however, exhaustion took hold and he slipped into recharge. Intermittently agitated by the nightmares, awakening to whine softly, only to fall back into a restless recharge again. Repeating the process a time or two more.

Finally re-awakening and just staring into the lid of the locked nest for some time before he finally scrambled up and knocked on the lid. “Hey, Jazz… can I come out…?” Banging soft but insistently. “Please?” 

 

Dev’s owner was asleep in the bedroom, door closed. The Seeker was trapped in his comfortable but confining nest until morning, when Jazz finally woke and started going about his day.

 

After a short time, the little Seeker gave up and just stared at the lid. Bored and too troubled to rest. He fidgeted with the nest a bit to get comfortable and tried to think of something pleasant, plagued by all the negative thoughts and memories… and he thought of his twin, wondering where she was… what she was doing. What of his first-borns? Were they safe? Were they well? Were they still alive? Still with Starlight and Sentry? At least, if they were, they were free. If they were dead, then at least they died free. He purred and chortled softly…”Starlight…keep them safe…” he muttered softly. Hope, burning a tiny flame in his spark. He’d hold onto that hope for as long as he could.

 

Jazz finally got around to tending his Seeker for the morning. He mixed the carrier supplements into a morning’s ration of fuel and carried it to the locked nest. “Hey little guy–hungry?” He released the locks and lifted the lid.

 

“Yes…” The little Seeker replied, enthusiastically. Sort of bouncing on his pedes.

 

Jazz gently placed the beaker in Devision’s hands, making sure it was steady before letting go. “Drink up, it’s good for the kids.” He tapped Devision’s chest lightly.

 

Devision carefully sat down with it and drank heartily, he needed the energy it would give him. Stave off some of the lack of rest from the night before. Still thinking about his sister. And the kids of him and his Trinemates, lost to the stars. It gave him hope. At least some of his little ones had a fighting chance to live up to their full potential. As long as Starlight and Sentry were looking after them, they would be fine. “Finished, Jazz…” He called out sweetly after a time.

 

“Good. Howya feelin?” Jazz retrieved the beaker and picked up Devision, tucking him into one arm and carrying him into the washroom.

 

“Uh... tired with a mix of sad and hopeful...” The little Seeker replied softly. “Otherwise alright I guess?” 

 

“Well–I guess you can sleep today,” Jazz offered. “That might getcha back in your groove. You need to wash up–Sunstreaker’ll wash you again, but if you’re smudged when you show up he’ll spend ten minutes telling you about it before he even gets started.”

 

“Okay.” Thinking things over, the little seeker piped up... “When you said about putting black and white on me... does it matter how much white? Because I’ve been wondering if I should let go of being the Blue Rogue. I mean, that was another lifetime... I was someone else then. So long as I have a little royal blue somewhere... I could live with that. I don’t think one’s finish color makes them who they are, after-all...”

 

“That’s Sunstreaker’s thing,” Jazz answered. He turned on the cleaning-oil pump and lifted the lid over the tub, then plopped Devision into it. “You don’t have to wear a whole lotta white–but I thought of something last night. Sunny’s gonna have to do it whether he likes it or not.”

 

“Well, no... I don’t mind that... white’s a color often associated with purity, so I don’t mind it at all. What I mean is would it be okay if I were mostly white? Especially if it were a bit sparkly?” 

 

“Mostly white is fine. Sparkly–depends on how much Sides wants to charge for whatever makes the sparkle.” Jazz cocked his head a little. “Didn’t you say you used to call yourself the Blue Rogue?”

“Yes. Though I didn’t call myself that-not at first, anyway. It was something I came to be known as. Who knows, maybe someone will take up the mantle and follow my path, build on the legend of the Blue Rogue…”  
“I don’t know that one.” Jazz started rubbing Devision with a wash pad.

 

“Of course not... it took place in a distant galaxy. No other Cybertronian’s been out that far... that I know of... I think the planets there are much younger than Cybertron.” 

 

“Outside the galaxy?” Jazz stopped rubbing Devision’s wings in favor of lifting the smaller bot’s chin. “You really think I’m gonna believe you got outside the galaxy and back already?

 

“Yeah. My Cybertronian ship got pulled into a wormhole... and then things just got more interesting from there.” The little Seeker replied.

 

“Uh-huh.” Jazz rolled Devision onto his chest in Jazz’s palm and rubbed the cleanser between his slave’s wings. “How’d you get back, if it was a lucky wormhole that took you?”

 

“Traxxis’s ship... it’s the fastest in the universe!” The Seeker muttered with enthusiasm. “Perfect stealth ship too.”

 

"Who’s Traxxis?” Jazz humored his chatty property.

 

“A Dakharrian cyborg and friend of mine.” The little Seeker chirped happily.

 

“How’d you meet him?” At least the little guy had perked up. 

 

“We were both after the same target, and we found out that we had the same goal, so when we got along so well, we decided to team up on the mission. And things progressed from there.”

 

“What was the target? No Autobots out there to kill, right?” There was just a hint of an edge in Jazz’s words.

 

“What? No! I’ve never killed anyone!” The little Seeker protested. “Even as a smuggler and pirate! No one's ever died at my servos! I don’t aim to kill in fights and I patch ‘em up when I do cause harm...and if I cannot do it I leave them in the hands of medics of their own people! That's why the Blue Rogue is known as the Noble Pirate."

 

Jazz shook his head. “Tsch. That’s a pretty story, but that’s all it is. Real pirates gotta kill if they wanna stay alive, forget about takin’ cargos. And any bot raised under Megatron’s law isn’t gonna hesitate to kill. Only way anyone survived.”

 

Jazz finished washing Devision without speaking. Only as he locked the cuffs around his slave’s wrists did he mutter, “I’ve met real pirates. They killed two of my crew and would’ve killed me.”

 

Devision whimpered about being cuffed, a soft little growl regarding it. “Sorry you lost your crew members, but I’m not like that.” 

 

“I’ll buy that much,” Jazz answered. He attached a leash to Devision’s collar and led the little slave out into the streets of Cybertron.

Well, that was something at least. A small win, perhaps? But it wasn’t enough. Devision had no choice as he was led out, cuffed, collared and leashed. Might as well make the most of it... while it lasted. As there were no guarantees as a slave-no certainty but uncertainty. A life of fear and sparkache. And it was wrong. Devision knew it with every fiber of his being. He needed a Hero. He needed a White Knight. He needed someone like Optimus Prime. With a heavy sigh, he looked around, just observing and studying, cataloging things to memory.

 

The Autobots had made a thriving, colorful world on top of the ruins of the old. Residential and commercial towers soared, connected by flyovers over which glittering Autobots drove and walked about their business. There were not many Decepticons of any sort to be seen, but those Devision did spot were pampered, polished pets, led on custom leashes and shackled more for show than as actual restraint. Only a handful looked like those Devision was most familiar with–worn, chipped, and dragging heavy chains.

 

Aside from the slaves, it really was not such a bad scene, Devision thought to himself. It would be something he would be likely to paint, even. Perhaps he would, if all worked out. Still, slavery was wrong. As the Blue Rogue, he had fought against it then. Why did they not see the wrong in this? What was up with that? Autobots were once the good-guys, they were supposed to be the good-guys... and now look at them. They are the new Decepticons. They are the overbearing and cruel oppressors. They are the conquerors. It was irony, wasn’t it?


	3. Meeting the Twins

“Jazz, how could you allow this uneven sludge to touch even a cheap slave?” Sunstreaker flicked the offending clinical primer on Dev’s chest with an expression that suggested a full-body rust infection would be less disgusting.

 

The little Seeker whimpered then growled at the comment. _Cheap slave? He was not just a cheap slave! He was Vosnian royalty! But what did the Autobots care for that? They were the ones that had devastated the once-rich and vibrant culture of the Seekers and forced them into slavery! How many had even known what they once had? How many underwent that mnemosurgery to be forced to forget?_ The low disapproving growl and huff of annoyance was followed by a heavy sigh.

“Do you have something to say, Seeker?” Sunstreaker rounded on him.

Cheap slave? He was not just a cheap slave! He was Vosnian royalty! But what did the Autobots care for that? They were the ones that had devastated the once-rich and vibrant culture of the Seekers and forced them into slavery! How many had even known what they once had? How many underwent that mnemosurgery to be forced to forget? The low disapproving growl and huff of annoyance was followed by a heavy sigh.

“Do you have something to say, Seeker?” Sunstreaker rounded on him.

“You just called him cheap,” Sunstreaker’s twin brother commented.

“I called this sorry excuse for primer cheap! It’s not fit for even a mining droid!”

"I'll agree with that much. " The little Seeker replied, "But I'm not cheap- I shouldn't even be a slave, and I'm far more unique than you'll likely ever know." The Seeker muttered a tad indignantly. Though he did not wish to start a fight, he was adamant on these points. "Not that I expect an Autobot to understand. " He sighed heavily, "Autobots weren't even my enemies until they decided to make a slave outta me... much rather count the Scorpionans as enemies then fellow Cybertronians...'cause those guys are really really nasty!"

“Mouthy,” Sideswipe observed. 

“Kinda refreshing, huh?” Jazz propped his elbow on a cabinet top. “Least he doesn’t pretend he loves ya to your face and plan how to rip your Spark out behind your back.”

Sunstreaker scowled. “You’re not going to punish him?”

“You want me to? Not gonna change his mind.” Jazz shrugged. “Long as he doesn’t mouth off in the wrong places, an’ he doesn’t try to start a fight with his fists–what’s it matter?”

"Don' wanna fight at all, never did. Just joined the wrong group-I guess." The little Seeker muttered dejectedly. "Not that it matters." He sighed again. What would they understand? That he was called a defective? A glitch? Not that they’d care, really.

“It’s all that matters!” Sunstreaker barked.

“All that mattered then,” Sideswipe corrected. “It’s more complicated these days. Are you taking the job or not?”

“Yes, I’m taking it,” Sunstreaker muttered. He scooped up Devision, turned him in his hands, scowled, then carried him further into the shop, where he stood the little Seeker on a dias that brought Devision’s head to about Sunstreaker’s chest height–convenient to work with. “If the metal under this sludge isn’t too hideous I might be able to make him look close to acceptable.”

“Blues and purples, with a little of me mixed in,” Jazz instructed in casual tones as he followed.

“Blue?” Sunstreaker demanded. “Don’t you have any imagination? Half the mechs you walk by today are blue!”

“That makes it a good challenge to make it interesting, doesn’t it?” Jazz answered with a grin. 

"Just wanna be pretty again. " The Seeker in question purred. Ignoring the mech-handling, as it was common for his being a slave and so little. Little wings fluttered softly. He looked from one Autobot to the next. They weren't so bad, overall, it seemed. Though Autobots were still the oppressors... and that was wrong. 

“Anyone can do that,” Sunstreaker stated dismissively. “My standards are higher. My clients are social art.”

“And good advertising,” Sideswipe added with a grin. 

Sunstreaker snorted and measured the space between Devision’s wings with his fingers.

“Let’s leave them to it,” Sideswipe said to Jazz. “Haggling’s more fun.”

“And I got some special details for you to blend in,” Jazz said. He followed the red twin out, leaving Devision in Sunstreaker’s hands.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true. So you’re gonna make art outta me?” The Seeker asked quizzically, curiosity gripping him. He was shy, and unsure of this Autobot. He was... touchy, at best. 

“When I’m through with you you’ll be fit for a pedestal in the Resilience Road Gallery,” Sunstreaker told him with casual arrogance. He picked up Devision’s right arm and lifted it away from his side, studying the shapes of the little Seeker’s body from the side. “Hmmm…are you carrying?”

 

“Yes. But I don’t know how many or by whom.” The little Seeker replied. “It’s not confirmed yet... I mean.” The small Seeker studied the Autobot. “That would be nice... I like to look good-sure most do.” 

When Sunstreaker frowned, he darkened the whole room. “You’re not suggesting that Jazz is renting you out are you?” His tone said that had better not be the case.

“No! Not at all. I… I don’t think he would be like that. I was an insult gift left for him. An’ others used me before he got there.” The little Seeker said quietly. “He’s been nothing but kind, kindest Autobot I’ve known so far, I’m sure.”

“An insult gift?” Sunstreaker put a world’s worth of disgust and scorn into the term. “Well, whoever gave you as a gift obviously had some kind of cognitive processing defect. You’ve got some wear on you and you’re no good for heavy labor, but you can still carry and fetch and carry, and I’m sure that with a little sprucing up you could even draw attention at those ridiculous kite shows. Not that I’m going to be responsible for the kind of insults to optics some of those poor winged pets have been subjected to.” He sniffed in distaste and lowered Devision’s arm, walking around his back and moving his wings back and forth, then taking hold of his lower left leg. “Pick up your foot, I want to see how your knee joint cycles.” 

“Yeah, but I was in way worse shape than this.” The Seeker replied. “Spent a few days at the clinic.” The little Seeker nodded, doing as the Autobot Sunstreaker bid him. “Would be fitting for me to look way better than the others at kite shows or what-have-you. I think I would like that very much.”

“Jazz has hopelessly pedestrian taste in color for himself, but I’ll make sure he chooses something with some life in it for you,” Sunstreaker assured him. “Just how badly were you damaged that you had to be stripped and coated with this uneven swill?” He used his free hand to support Devision’s opposite side while he moved the little Seeker’s leg back and forth.

“Pretty bad. Neglected far too long, for a few vorns and so I needed a lotta work done.” Devision stated complying with the Autobot quite easily. Aware of the temper on him, and trying to be nice enough not to trigger said temper, but all-in-all, he found this Autobot interesting. “Is he a cop of some kind?” The little Seeker asked curiously. “He’s got the colors of one-if going by Earth standards for such.”

“Something like that,” Sunstreaker answered, suddenly guarded. He moved back around in front of Devision, changing his grip on him to keep the little bot steady while Sunstreaker swung his leg out to the side and rotated it through its entire range of motion, watching the plating over his hip move. “I don’t remember seeing you on Earth.”

“I was found out and dragged back into it towards the end by Starscream. Otherwise, I would have just hung out with my human friends or gone back to Ardenia.” The little Seeker replied. “I was not much good at fighting or fitting in among ‘Cons, I did better on Ardenia as an academic.” 

 

Sunstreaker tensed at the Decepticon Air Commander’s name. “Starscream was one of the biggest reasons that $@ war went on as long as it did.” He put Devision’s foot down. “My brother and I used to argue about which of us would get to pound his face to foil and which got to cut his Spark cradle feeds.” 

“Oh? My mates and I were rather infatuated with him at first, then we realized he’d never be a true friend. And after their disappearance things went really bad for me. And by the time I was dragged back into the fold, I knew he was never going to be a trustworthy Seeker.” Devision answered. “By then, I was sick of them all more than ever, I just wanted out and the war over.”

Sunstreaker met Devision’s optics for a long moment. That steady gaze revealed a mind not only harsh but unnervingly shrewd. Arrogant he might be, but the yellow twin was by no means stupid. “Most Seekers I met couldn’t be trusted to tell you which way was up.”

The little Seeker flinched just a little, dropping his wings a bit shyly. Though he did not look away. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you met the wrong ones at the wrong time. Never met the free ones I used to know. War-times-generally isn’t the best way ta meet people when they’re at their best-or nicest. Don’t ya think? War tends to bring out the worst in everyone-usually. And then most joined the wrong side-for whatever reason.”

“Bad luck,” Sunstreaker answered. “Megatron got to them first.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” The little Seeker replied bitterly. “I think it’s his speeches, he was known for his speeches, wasn’t he?” Devision said softly. “So was The Prime, right?” 

“He did a lot more than make speeches,” Sunstreaker answered flatly. “Unlike Megatron, Optimus lived by what he said. You believed because he believed.”

“Yes. I know that much is true. Megatron was only all about conquest, and whatever he desired. He didn’t care about the rest of us. Just as Starscream only valued ya if he felt he had a use for ya. But Optimus Prime, he valued you just for being alive and being yourself.” The little Seeker sighed. “Wish I had known him.”

 

“Easy to say that _now,_ ” Sunstreaker said, still guarded. 

 

“Why do you say that?” The little Seeker piped up more curious than ever, “Ya doubt that I woulda wanted to have known him then? I would have left the ‘Cons if I had had the chance...”

“I’ve heard that before,” Sunstreaker answered. “In fact almost every war-built Decepticon I’ve met said that.”

 

“Figures. They were probably just sayin’ it to save themselves. Bet they never got called a Defective Glitch by the others. Nor attempted to sabotage their own ship. Never got used as a morale booster either.” Devision replied bitterly.

“You mean you sabotaged your ship?” Sunstreaker asked, quizzical.

“Yes. Twice. First time I got caught and punished for it... the second time, I got away. The Predation crashed on a large asteroid shortly after that second attempt. But I only got free ‘cause of a power outage to the ship.”

 

“Huh. You didn’t cause the power outage?” Sunstreaker started arranging scanners on posts around Devision.

 

“No. I was in the brig of the ship in stasis cuffs and chains at the time. I think it was a fight with an Autobot vessel that caused the power outage. I just ‘helped’ the ship onto a collision course with the nearest largest asteroid.” The Seeker replied. 

 

“Mm.” Sunstreaker adjusted the height of various scanners. “And after that…?”

 

“I took a transport ship and got as much distance from the Predation as I could. It led to me getting sucked into a wormhole and into a part of the Universe no Cybertronian has ever been to.”

 

“Yeah? Why did you come back? You can’t have missed your crewmates.”

 

“Energon hunts, when l was low on fuel, I searched far and wide and came to Earth for it but stayed for the creatures and the culture and the human friends I found. Also-I tried to find Starlight and Sentry and my first few little ones.”

 

“Did you find them?”

 

“No. I never did. My twin sis and my first little ones and Sentry are missing still. I am sure they are alive, but I have no idea where. They probably settled on another world some time ago.”

 

“You’re a twin?” That got Sunstreaker’s undivided attention. “A split-Spark twin?”

 

“No, a Carried twin..” The little Seeker replied. “So was my Carrier, she had a twin brother. So it kinda runs in our line. Along with a few other traits.”

 

Sunstreaker thought that over, then offered, “You should tell Jazz that. He has a lot of contacts, some of them in places you wouldn’t believe.”

“Really? What would he do though? I don’t think they ever got caught. I would have known, they never came back to Cybertron. They’re out in space-somewhere.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” Sunstreaker answered. “Jazz is complicated–and like I said, he knows a lot of people.”

 

“Well, I’ll give him the chance... he’s already come off as being nicer and more laid-back than most I’ve met in a long, long, long, time.”

 

“He’s nicer than I am,” Sunstreaker affirmed. “Hold your arms and wings out and stand still for the static scan.”

 

“You don’t seem so bad yourself, given the Autobots I’ve known... The ones I have had as previous... Masters.” The little Seeker spoke the word with venom as if the very word was vile, not to mention the concept. Nodding, the little Seeker did as he was bid. He found that he liked this Autobot so far, and his twin as well, from what he’d seen of them so far. And Jazz, definitely Jazz. “Though I’m still not sure if Autobots and Decepticons can be friends or anything more than that... especially with the whole slave and master thing.”

 

Though time would tell whether they would remain liked by the little Seeker. Generally, he was a fairly accepting and tolerant, cheery bot. Even all the scrap he had been through as a slave and as a soldier had not stopped that core element to his personality. Merely dampened it from time to time with the morose and bitterness that he’d picked up from the times during the war and while in slavery. He sighed heavily.

 

“I don’t seem so bad because you haven’t done anything to offend me but wear that disgusting primer, and that’s not your fault,” Sunstreaker answered as though discussing the weather.

 

“Trust me, what will get you a tongue-lashing from Jazz will get you backhanded through the wall or ripped in two by me. I haven’t had to kill anyone in a long time, but that’s because my brother and I don’t drink as much as we used to.”

“So... do you mean that as on account of my being a ‘Con? Or as a slave? Or as both? Or would that be true regardless of what I were?” The little Seeker asked curiously, though a nervous edge would be detectable to his tone. “And, if I may ask, does that mean you have no problem with the status of Decepticons as slaves? Or the institution of slavery? I... I’m just trying to understand. Not trying to offend or anything of the sort. I just wanna know why things are the way they are.”   
Sunstreaker turned and weighed him with an unnervingly cold, arrogant gaze. “I don’t care whether you’re an Autobot or a Decepticon. I don’t care one way or another about laws or rules. What I care about is people. People I know and people who know me. If you hurt someone I care about, I make sure you can’t do it again. That’s all.”

 

“Um... Okay.” The little Seeker trembled a little under that gaze. “Got it. Not that I want to hurt anyone you know or care about, or anyone, really-except maybe those who’ve hurt me... but even then... I don’t know.” He went quiet after that, weather from fear or shyness, or just lost in his own thoughts, it would be hard to say. After a moment, he dared to ask. “That includes Jazz, too then, I take it? Not that I wish him any harm... mind you, just askin’ if he’s one you care about as you mentioned?”

 

“Jazz is one of them,” Sunstreaker confirmed. All of a sudden the dangerous calm vanished, and the “coating design artist” was back. “There aren’t too many of them–most people don’t like me and I don’t like them back. My brother does the friend-making business–I find it way too much work to be worth it. Now I want some scans in motion.” With that, he removed every restraint from Devision’s body, including his collar, and lifted him down to the floor. “Walk around and get into your normal stride. You need to look perfect in motion, too.” He stepped to the wall and started pushing buttons and adjusting meters. 

 

“Okay. I can do that.” Devision followed the instructions he was given, moving naturally, freely, comfortably without the restraints and bindings he had on before. For once it almost felt like he was his old self. The more confident person he had been on Ardenia. The Prince of Ardenia he had once been. The last Prince of Vos. He trilled in this, purring, unaware of the response. It felt so good to be free of restraints and chains and collar...!

 

Maybe Sunstreaker could see how much Devision liked being free to move, or maybe he really did want an exhaustive scan of every possible movement his charge was likely to make. Either way, it was two hours of reaching up, reaching down, gymnastic poses, walking, running, transforming quickly and slowly, and listening to Sunstreaker make observations about the flexibility of his back and the extension pistons in his ankles. (He liked the former and decided that the latter needed to be disguised in some way or another–he seemed to have a personal distaste for exposed hydraulic seals.)

 

Devision was so caught-up in the business of moving as he was told and directed, that he did not even realize how much time had passed. It seemed mere minutes to the small Seeker. It was nice to move so freely and fully comfortably, with no chains or bindings or mark of being owned by collar or other implements of restraint or control. Devision sighed heavily, as he knew it was only a short time. It would not last. 

 

Would he ever have his freedom again? To fly or do what he wished, on his own? Of his own will? He really longed for that day, but it seemed it would never come. Not just for himself, either. But for all. For his people and his countless little ones he’d had over the course of his time as a slave-forced to bear and birth them only to lose them in the end to an unknown and likely unpleasant fate. How many had survived? How many lived still? How many had been chewed up by the institution of slavery and spit out? Dead, or nearly so? Spirits-broken? Hopeless? How many had ‘owners’ who really cared about them? Who kept them for life? Who treated them ‘right’ according to the way one might a pet? Free of worry? Of concern? Free from harm? Those never having been abused in any way? Save for being kept as a pet? As a slave who was more like a cherished friend and servant? 

 

Autobots cannot be friends to Decepticons. His bitter thought interrupted the line of thinking. They can only be Masters. Nothing more. And never anything less. Nothing but oppressors. Monsters, even... but never friends. Never lovers. Never anything of significance to a Seeker. Or any Decepticon. We are better off without them-free-but it’s best we exile from Cybertron. This world is not our home. Not anymore. 

 

“Um... what do you know about the Prime? You knew him, right?”

 

“I served under him,” Sunstreaker confirmed. He scowled. “I fought for the real Prime, though, not the pompous $% they show in all those vidplays and the history texts. Idiots.” His entire body reflected his scorn. “If he’d been what they want him to have been no one would have followed him into a fight.”

 

“Yes, I am sure that would be true. So what do you know of him? I guess serving under someone is not the same as actually knowing them, exactly...” Devision mused, thinking things over. Yes, one could serve under someone and not really know them... Or serve with someone and not know them. He never really knew most of the other Decepticons he had served with. Knew of them, but knew them, no. Not really.

 

“Not exactly. But I remember enough,” Sunstreaker muttered. “He didn’t like fighting, but he wouldn’t back away from it or give away anything just to avoid it. And when he blew his stacks and charged everyone got out of his way, Autobot, Decepticon–even me. He did more than his share and took less than his share–everybody knew he should’ve had half again as much fuel as he took, as big as he was. He wasn’t doing it as some kind of martyr, though–that was just how he was.” He scowled again. “Those idiot playwrights don’t ask us, though. They just write whatever they wish a leader was now. A wimp.”

 

“Do they ever actually ask from those who knew him, however marginally? Seems most writers just make stuff up. They just make whoever or whatever however they want it to be. Just to be able to tell the story they way they want or to make it work for whatever goals they have. They don’t do the research necessary. Or go to sources that knew the truth?”

 

“Prowl did, when he wrote up his official history,” Sunstreaker admitted. “But Prowl wrote about everything, so even the ones who bother to read some of it don’t read all of it. They think they already know all the major events.” He snorted. “And no one wants to hear about how it really was. That some of the Autobots weren’t exactly heroes with shining armor and clean Sparks and some of the Decepticons had a least some version of honor. It doesn’t fit the story they want to tell.” Another snarl. “And some of the mechs they’ve had playing me are insults to my design and my skills! No minibot ever took me down hand-to-hand!” 

 

“Yeah, as terrible as most ‘Cons then were, they were (and are still) capable of being good or having moments when they are decent. Just as most Autobots can be and have moments of being capable of being despicable monsters.“ Devision replied, almost distractedly. “...war can make anyone bad. And so does oppression... or being the oppressors. That whole absolute power corrupts absolutely...thing.” The little Seeker muttered bitterly. “Most of the Autobots I have known since my being enslaved have been nothing short of monstrous... not that they likely see themselves as such.” The little Seeker growled. “They have become the evil that they sought to suppress...” Devision gave a violent shudder, wings twitching in involuntary re-experiencing of past trauma... he shied away from Sunstreaker, lost momentarily to the past as little whimpers and growls were all the noise he made.

 

“Hey.” Sunstreaker’s swat wasn’t hard, and it was a cuff to the shoulder, not the head or wings. Still, it wasn’t something to ignore. “Snap out of it. We fought that war, and we’ve told the idiots who didn’t what we think of them and their power trips. Some of them ignored us, some of them tried to suppress us, and these days most of us have reasons to keep our mouths shut. Just remember this–Jazz is one of the ones who fought. Whoever had you before didn’t. That’s a big difference. Got it?”

 

The swat pulled him out of it-”Huh? Wha..oh...” The small Seeker looked up at Sunstreaker. 

 

“Jazz was...uh...right.. So he’s different.” The little Seeker muttered still slightly distracted. Finally coming around to the present. Things were different now. Things would be better. If this could really be believed. No, they were already better. He’d seen enough evidence of that. Though, just how long would it last? Jazz said he would be treated decently, maybe not in those words exactly, but in his own way. At least, so he’s been told. Would it really be true though? Or... No, don’t think about that.

 

“Everyone who knew Prime remembers him, and what he would and wouldn’t have approved of.” Sunstreaker’s growl wasn’t directed at Devision. “I’d love to hear him put those mincing &$#%@ in the Council Towers into their places.”

 

“You and me both! I’d love to see how these younger ones would react if he gave them a talking-to! That would be unbelievable amusing!” The little Seeker cheered up, in an almost mischievous delight at the thought. “Wish it could happen!” 

 

“More than amusing, satisfying,” Sunstreaker grunted. He finally keyed off the scanners. “All right, you’re done in here.” He put the collar back over Devision’s head and activated it before the Seeker could protest, but just carried the rest of his restraints back into the offices where his brother and Jazz were talking about what sounded like nothing in particular.

 

A soft little growl followed by a whimper at having the collar back on again was the only protest, barely audible. He sighed heavily, resigned. The little Seeker looked over at Jazz and watched him with interest. Though he kept quiet, and flexed his wings, fanning them more out of boredom than any other reason before tucking his wings down and close, in a relaxed manner but still closer than most Seekers naturally favor. 

 

“So whaddya think?” Jazz finally asked Sunstreaker, who oddly enough had waited patiently while his brother finished his conversation with Devision’s owner. 

 

“A lesser artist wouldn’t be able to do anything more than strip that primer,” Sunstreaker answered, arrogantly bored. “I, however, will have four choices for you by tomorrow.”  
Jazz grinned. “That’s why I brought him here. Nothin’ like gettin’ the best.”

 

“And we give you a discount for old times’ sake,” Sideswipe added, teasing.

 

“Yup. Couldn’t afford your normal rates.” Jazz’s humor took the sting out of his comment.

 

“I’d do it for nothing if you’d let me fix that sorry excuse for a front-end treatment,” Sunstreaker stated. “I’d pay you if you would talk to Prowl and get him in here for a decent update of his head and doors.”

 

“I’ll tell him that,” Jazz chuckled. “Maybe he’ll drop by just to find out if you’re serious.”

 

“We’re serious,” Sideswipe said mildly. “We haven’t seen him in ages.”

 

Jazz’s face sobered a little. “I getcha. I’ll pass it along.”

 

Devision looked from one Autobot to the next, just mildly curious about all three of them and just calmly observing their exchanges. Curious as to what the usual rate the twins charged for Sunstreaker’s work but glad that Jazz was able to work it out with them. Another mention of Prowl, which made the little Seeker all the more curious about him. Still, Devision kept quiet but walked over to Jazz to stay at his side, keeping close but still a bit shy.

 

Jazz put an arm around Devision’s hips, low enough to be a statement of ownership and control of the little Seeker and his economically most valuable attributes–his ability to please in the berth and his potential as a brood carrier. Sideswipe acknowledged the motion with a look at Jazz’s impassive face and a slow nod. Something was passing among the former comrades-in-arms. An understanding had been reached.

 

“Mer?” Was the little Seeker’s only reply as he looked from Jazz’s servo to his helm and then to the twins, a soft sigh, but he was not going to fight this. Recognizing it as an act and statement of ownership... not that he liked that... he did not like being owned... but Jazz was better than those he’d had before. So rather than fight the statement, as a part of him wanted to desperately do, he just gave into it and snuggled into Jazz’s arm. Trusting that at least Jazz would keep him safe from the not-so-nice Autobots. Nuzzling him and trying to get some petting from his Master, with a soft purr.

 

Jazz pulled Devision down to sit astride his thigh and idly stroked his chest and belly as he chatted. He left his slave unshackled until they left. He locked the leash to Devision’s collar with a neutral expression and led him out into the pedestrian traffic, not looking at him or acknowledging that he existed as anything other than the object at the other end of the chain he held.

 

Surprised at first, from being pulled onto his Master’s lap, being mech-handled was something he was used to, sure-but it was always a bit startling when it happened. Though time and time again it happened and the little Seeker had learned to keep his instinctive startle response from such handling to himself. Often trying to ignore it or focus on something that was more within his control. Such as how he reacted to it... usually by brushing it off and trying to play along like it was okay and perfectly acceptable. Even when it was not. Which was most of the times when it happened. 

 

Still, Jazz was better than others he’d had and he did like the petting-he was a sucker for cuddles and pets. Had the little Seeker always been, or was it something that developed out of necessity and circumstance of being a slave? Even Devision himself was not so sure anymore.  
But what could he do? He was just a mere pet in this society. A thing, an object... property. Thus, as much as he hated it, he knew that he would be treated as such by all Autobots until-when or if-their society changed. But how, how could he push for the changes needed, when he himself was a mere slave? Who would stand with him in making those changes? 

 

Jazz had already said as much to indicate that they couldn’t act-that he would not be able to save himself if trouble arose. And saving Devision was out of the question. A little shudder from the little Seeker. Who would be his hero?


	4. Disagreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally found the interest to continue this... well, always had the interest... but... lacked motivation. My other story has garnered more motivation for this one as well!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the fourth chapter is here! Yay! I still have a ton more to get through. So when I can figure out where the next chapter ends, I shall post again.

It happened between one step and the next. A soft buzz turned into a high squeal in his head, then vanished into a roaring boom as if the entire planet was ringing like a bell. Devision’s vision blinked out and he saw only darkness, then a tall figure with blazing blue optics that somehow leaked enough light to limn every edge of a mighty body in light against infinite darkness. The fiery blue gaze turned toward him—-it was gone, and Devision’s every nerve fiber was tingling and ringing, setting his wings a twitch from pure startled reaction.

 

Devision did pass out. But as such, he had no recollection of how long he had been out... mere seconds, it all seemed to him. He awoke with just the faint sense of some time had passed, but how long, he did not know.

 

 

His owner had tightened his shackles, immobilizing his wrists and ankles. then folded him into a squatting position and fastened wrists to ankles and unhooked his leash to use to make a sling to carry his slave like a shopping bag. Devision swung gently in time with his Master’s stride.

 

“Mer?” He whimpered softly, it was weird to be carried in this way. It was strange and he was not sure what he thought of it... but what could he do? Hopefully they would be ‘home’ soon and he could have his mobility again. Still kind of unfocused so most things seemed a bit blurry as he tried to cling to and make sense of what he’d seen. The reason for his blackout. Was that...? No, it couldn’t be... the puzzled little Seeker just whimpered softly. Unsure of what to make of the whole experience.

 

Jazz didn’t take him straight home. Instead he took Devision to the clinic and had him scanned for malfunctions or whatever else might have caused his little Seeker to pass out in the street–which was a serious embarrassment and inconvenience for an owner.

 

 

“Why here?” Devision asked quietly, curious but shy and fearful that the questioning might earn disapproval or worse. He looked around, curious but uncertain as to what would happen.  
“You collapse on the street, I’m gonna bring you here and have you checked,” Jazz answered grimly. “Just to see if there’s really something wrong before I come down on you for pulling stunts on me.”

 

 

“But I... it’s... it’s not a stunt!” Devision protested, knowing well he could not prove it unless the exam comes up with something. Which was likely to be unsatisfying. There was nothing wrong with him. Just his Gift or Curse, depending on how it was perceived. Usually, it did not result in his passing out.

 

 

Jazz grunted noncommittally and put a hand on Devision’s chest, its weight encouraging him to stay where he was–on his back on the examining table. Not that he could have moved much had he wanted to–in addition to the usual wrist and ankle clamps, he’d been pinned and braced to keep his head and torso still for the scan. Jazz had released Devision’s head but not his chest. The hand was a reminder and a warning. The Seeker was a Decepticon, and Jazz had ample reason not to trust Decepticons or take him at his word.

 

 

“It’s not a stunt...” The little Seeker whined. Whimpering, because he was worried and fearful of punishment. His ‘gift’ often led to punishment when it showed itself. Because it often distracted him enough to cause the Master inconvenience and so he was frequently punished for issues related to his gift. Yet he could not help it! He could not control when and how it came! It was easiest when it came as dreams, because usually the Masters were no where near him then and he could process it in peace and free of harm. Soft little fearful whimpers and whines persisted from the fearful little Seeker. He would be squirming and trembling if it were not for his being restrained at the moment. He could not bring himself to look at his ‘owner’ and so he tried to focus on anything not living. Avoiding looking at any of the Autobots at all.

 

 

 

The medic came in a while later. “Well, I can tell you that it wasn’t voluntary. Something caused a brief processor overvoltage. His systems went down to prevent serious injury.”

 

 

“What would do that?” Jazz asked. “Not like the little guy was drunk or anything.”

 

 

“No,” the medic agreed. “I scanned through the logfiles and checked the system safeties. All normal. For now all I can do is call it a momentary glitch. He’s all right, and so are the Sparklets. There are two of them, by the way. If we’re lucky they’ll move down one at a time.”

 

 

“Told ya. Not a stunt.” The little Seeker muttered bitterly, before going quiet again. He did not wish to push things right now. He still would not look at either Jazz or the medic, but instead focused on the ceiling. Two little ones, hmm? At least this time he wasn’t full of a bunch of them. It would be easier to part with just two. At least, he thought so. But it would still chip away at his spark, breaking it just a little more... he whimpered softly, fighting to keep control of himself. His spark ached for all the little ones that had been stolen from him. As well as the freedom that had been stolen from him. No. No more loss of babies. Maybe... just maybe... Jazz would let him keep them? 

 

 

A soft huff of disbelief came from the little Seeker, that which could be heard by the medic and his Master. No, not likely. He would have to face the loss of his little ones yet again. Always. They never let him keep them. Ever. Jazz would be just the same. He would not care. Kind as he was, he is still just an Autobot and he does not see the Seekerlets as anything more than just his property. He would not see them as people. Anymore than he sees me as a person.

 

“Two, huh.” Jazz’s expression didn’t give any hints as to his thoughts. “Least it’s not six.” 

 

Jazz took his healthy slave home, taking off the leash but leaving the hobbles and wrist shackles in place. Devision could walk, but not run, and he couldn’t move without the noise of the chains giving away where he was.

 

 

Devision just sat down and whimpered. Not liking the chains at all. Still trying to grasp at the meaning of the vision. Did it mean anything? And if so, what? But it had to have meant something.... He was far too shy and uncertain about things to make a move. Sitting there trembling and whimpering softly. Not brave enough to try and do anything, and unsure of speaking to Jazz either. 

 

Jazz prepared his own energon, then Devision’s. He put the cup into his slave’s hands and sat down on the sofa. “So–what’d you think of the twins?”

 

 

“They seem really fun... in a dangerous sorta way?” The little Seeker answered, quizzically studying Jazz with a slight helm tilt. “And they also seem rather fascinating. I think I like them.” Devision sipped at his Energon, while thinking over the visit with the twins, and reflecting on the vision, and about his little ones. 

 

 

“Pretty good description,” Jazz confirmed. “Dangerous if you’re on their bad side, interesting guys if you’re not, a lotta fun if you’re in good with ‘em–a little crazy butcha can’t help likin’ ‘em. Smarter than they act, too–whole lot smarter.”

 

“Mmhmm. Kinda got that vibe, I think. Of course, a lotta people are smarter than they act. For some reason or other.” Devision sipped at his Energon some more. “Um, Jazz, do ya like Energon treats?” The little Seeker asked after a moment of silence.  
Jazz looked at him with an air of surprise. “Depends who made ‘em, what’s in ‘em, and why someone’s offerin’ ‘em.”

 

 

“Oh. I see.” The little Seeker said softly, thinking. “Hmm. So what kinds of Energon treats do you like then?” Devision sipped away a bit more at the Energon he had. 

 

 

Jazz cocked his head at his tiny slave. “You sayin’ you know how to make ‘em?”

 

 

“Yeah...” The little Seeker replied, before sipping some more at the Energon he had, speaking softly, “I know lotsa different kinds. Family recipes passed down from my Grand-carrier to my carrier and her twin, and from her to me... and some of my own creation... from dabbling with it on-and-off over the millenias...”

 

 

“You made ‘em for other owners?” Jazz asked, dubious.

 

 

“No. No one ever asked. I never offered before. Haven’t done any since my enslavement began. Though I miss making them. Along with Vosnian High Grade. Or even just regular Jet Grade. Not likely any Autobot has ever made those or bothered to learn about it at all. What do Autobots care for the Seeker culture, anyway? They destroyed it, after all...” The little Seeker’s tone was unnervingly calm, but there was a sad bitter edge to it... as of some great loss. Autobots had gone to every length to eliminate what existed of Decepticon culture, Seeker or otherwise. The little Seeker finished the last of his Energon, looking away from Jazz as he released a heavy sigh, setting the cup down, his violet optics held a faraway-look- a longing for the past, for the time when Seekers were free. “Love, Compassion, Empathy, Understanding...” He muttered so softly as to be almost inaudible.

 

 

“Those weren’t just Autobot or Decepticon things,” Jazz said harshly. He threw back his own Energon. “Even the tunnel crawlers knew what they were, in the old days.”

 

“Whatdoya mean?” The little seeker asked curiously, looking back at Jazz with a quizzical expression. “Is this about how most Autobots play at being what they idolize Optimus Prime for being... but completely go against what he would have approved of? That Autobots have become the NEW Decepticons? That we were always said to be untrustworthy... and backstabbing, but then, nowadays, Autobots cannot be trusted? That they are the oppressors to US? And that absolute power corrupts absolutely... that there is no purity or goodness now? This society is evil and despicable!” Devision said this with a calm demeanor, no malice, no bitterness, just acceptance though his look held that he did not like it. Just calmly staring at Jazz like he was discussing art or something pleasant.

 

 

Jazz’s face and body tightened. “Yeah. That. Don’t you accuse me of bein’ like them. Or the twins, or any of us who really fought that war. We did the best we could. Still are.”

 

 

“I... I didn’t mean you, or the twins, exactly...” The little Seeker whimpered. “You guys are different. I know that much now. Though you’re still Autobots, and... I don’t know if you guys can be trusted either. I... I would really like to believe otherwise. I always wanted to believe people could change... for the better. An’ that... that... Autobots and Decepticons could co-exist and get along as friends or more than friends... but I really don’t know. I’m not sure...it seems too unlikely... even impossible... and I don’t really like to think anything’s all that impossible... but... so much has proven and continues to prove that it is never gonna be...” Devision said softly, as he fearfully approached Jazz, searching him with uncertainty. Wings held tight to his frame in an uncomfortably close manner, to keep them safe out instinct, to keep them from being targeted as others had done. Though he still ambled over, chains rattling, to stand before Jazz nervously, looking away from him and whimpering softly.

 

Jazz’s hand closed around Devision’s jaw and made him look up into his owner’s face. “Those cement heads ain’t Autobots. They call ‘mselves that, but they ain’t got any right to any more’n they got a right to call the kids they breed Decepticons. We tried to tell ‘em, tried to prove what the Prime really was and what he meant. No one wanted to listen. That doesn’ change who he was or what we fought for. Read me?”

 

“Yes.” Devision replied softly. Looking up at Jazz, as he moved a little closer to him. “Do I have ta have these on?” The little Seeker asked as he intentionally rattled the chains that bound him. Soft pleading in his optics and tone. He added a soft whimper for effect, not sure if it would help or not.

 

Jazz looked at the little slave, bleak. Then his expression cleared and he lifted Devision into his lap. He released the chains but held Devision with one hand, rubbing his chest. “Tell me–is’t true Seekers lock on to scents? Bond through their olfactory sensors?” His scent surrounded Devision, swamping out all else.

 

“Yes.Thanks.” He answered and purred softly, then added, “If I came across them, I could probably still recognize all the little ones I’ve lost through their scent alone.” Devision replied softly. Purring at the petting and snuggling into Jazz. 

 

“Huh.” Jazz ran his free hand down Devision’s left arm. “So you’re pickin’ up what I smell like now?”

 

“Yeah. You have a nice scent.” Devision replied, still purring softly in-between the speaking. “Hard to describe it though.” He softly nuzzled Jazz’s arm, still purring.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Jazz answered with a hint of amusement. “D’you really like havin’ my hands on you, or are you tryin’ to make sure I don’t decide to throw you around or maybe add a few more to the two already in you?” It was a solemn question, though the rubbing of Devision’s body didn’t stop.

 

“No... I like being pet... but yes, sometimes I do try to encourage Masters to pet instead of the other stuff... Pettings much better... and I’ve always been a sucker for cuddles... even before... with my mates. I was the cuddliest of all of us. Guess it’s in part due to my smaller size? I don’t know, exactly.” Devision replied honestly and openly, looking up at Jazz shyly, with a shy uncertain smile. “Besides, I know I’m cute!”

 

“Yeah…never underestimate the little ones or the cute ones,” Jazz answered, teasing a little, though there was a definite guardedness to his humor. “You think you’d know the guy who wrapped you up in that cage, if you smelled him again?”

 

“Yeah... but I don’ wanna hurt no one... not unless they hurt me first-and even then, it’d have ta be very badly to really push me outta my pacifism and to actually desire harm on another.” Devision replied matter-of-factly. 

 

“Oh... him... yeah. I would know that scent for sure. He pierced my wings and put that nasty barbed chain through the holes...that was... so excruciating...and then he left me to be used... Not gonna forget him easily. He’s right up there with Maelstrom and Acid Rain on my hate-list... and I... I really don’t like to get to where I hate someone... Better to work out differences, don’t you think? Or just avoid someone all-together if they aren’t someone you can get along with.” Devision shuddered violently, tucking his wings in tightly, pinned against his small frame, with occasional violent twitches of the little wings as he snuggled into Jazz more with a soft whimper burying helm against his Master.

 

“I can work with that,” Jazz answered softly. His hands moved over Devision, leaving his scent on the small Seeker from head to toe. On the one hand, it was a relaxing massage. On the other, it was a statement of possession, a reinforcement of his claim to Devision’s body. He could and did touch inside Devision’s thighs and down the small of his back to his rump. Devision was property to be marked as mine in any way his owner pleased.

 

 

Devision was well aware of the possession element of his being touched by Jazz, but he also knew that there was little he could do about it except get in trouble if he said or did anything regarding fighting it... and it was not worth the effort or pain. Though he might hate it-and being owned-he was not able to do anything about it at this time. Instead, he just chose to play along as if he did like it... and that was not entirely untrue. He relished being petted in most areas, wings got a bit iffy as did his thighs and his pelvic where interface equipment was housed. 

 

Inwardly, he might cringe at it or shy away from the touches, but outwardly, he merely accepted and tolerated it all. And tried to enjoy it when it was not painful or uncomfortable. Shyly trembling a little now-and-then with the uncertainty of the circumstances. But overall, Devision purred, preferring to spin it as positive touch then negative. Made it easier for the little Seeker to bear and tolerate it that way. So he purred and nuzzled into Jazz and relaxed as much as he could allow, in the presence of an Autobot Master. Exhaustion started to hit and he tried to fight it off... not sure if he’d be allowed to nap on Jazz’s lap or not.

 

Jazz let his slave doze, then gathered him up and put him in his nest for the night, locking the lid down firmly before turning off the lights and going to do his own evening routine before bed.

 

Devision slept soundly, not even aware of the switch of being carried and put in the nest, just purring softly and inhaling the scent of Jazz all over him. No bad dreams this night, no waking up and being miserable all alone and forced to process things that were hard to bear alone. Though no one was trustworthy enough to share the burden, yet his troubles gave him a rare break this night.

 

He woke because his owner was moving around. The lid of his nest was open, and his shackles had been replaced on his wrists and ankles.

 

Upon waking the little Seeker grumbled. Chains, again...? Devision stood up to look around and see what Jazz was up to, both curious and annoyed. He was so sick of being a thing... of just being property. Why couldn’t anyone see him as the person he was? Why couldn’t they see this as wrong? He was not an object! He was a person! He should have the right to choose for himself! To be himself. He himself alone should have the say as to what happened to him, and where and with whom or how....

 

Jazz appeared with Devision’s morning ration. “Hey little guy.” He set the canister down in his slave’s reach and sat down with his own.

 

Devision took his without a word, not even looking at Jazz and worked on it, thinking about the vision again. What did it mean? He worked it over in his processor. He also thought about last night, and about his little ones. Two... well at least it would less to worry about than if he were carrying more than that. How would they fare? Was Jazz serious about adding more to what he carried? Would he really do that? Bring more innocents into a world that hated them? That would only value them for the price they fetched and what they could be used for?

 

He almost hoped that they would naturally terminate then be born into this world that hated them and saw them as things and not people. A little miserable whimper escaped him as he worked on his Energon. He hated having babies that would be nothing more than property. Finishing with a sad sigh, his mood was melancholy, but he kinda pushed past it, to speak up. “Done Jazz. Can I be shown around your place? I never got a look around...” 

 

“Yeah–yeah, come on, I’ll show ya.” Jazz led the way into a small office with a window and a sizable collection of reference texts on a wide array of topics. “Not much in here, but if you wanna check the networks you can use the system access. I’ll set up an account for you. Read anything you want–anything sensitive is passcoded.”

 

Devision climbed out and followed Jazz. “Okay, cool!” He cheered up a little at that. Definitely more than any others allowed him. Still, it was not what he wanted most. “So what’s next?”  
“Not much, if y’want the truth,” Jazz answered with a shrug. “I’m a simple bot in some ways. Don’t need a lot of stuff, so I don’t need a lotta space to put stuff.” He moved on to the next room–his bedroom. It was dominated by its broad and luxuriously-padded bed and a display of a collection of musical instruments, most of them Cybertronian with some Earthen acoustic instruments ranged on custom-fit racks and shelves around them. It was a reminder of just how tiny the humans were in comparison to Cybertronians–Jazz’s fingers were far too big to pluck the strings or work the keys and valves of the musical things on his walls.

 

“Oh. Okay.” The little Seeker looked around at the instruments... though the berth did interest him more. He walked over to it, without thinking, he ran a servo along it, to feel the texture of it... “May I?” The little Seeker asked, shyly, still looking at the berth with evident longing. Jealousy and envy potentially visible as well.

 

“Go ahead,” Jazz answered. The bed was triple-padded–one thick bottom pad, a second layer of cushions and pads cut into a variety of shapes and sizes, and a top layer of thinner, smaller pads. A sleeper could rearrange the padding to accommodate his doors, tires, and bumpers in comfort, or support an injury in a comfortable position. 

 

The little Seeker scrambled up onto the berth with some effort, on account of the hobbles and shackles on him, and his small size. At first just sitting there lightly poking the berth, then he lay down, chassis side down, to try it out, “Oo... it’s nice and comfy... “ he replied with a happy little wing-flutter before tucking wings in a little, to flatten them more to his back, so he could roll over on his back more easily. “D’ya really think I’m cute?” He asked shyly, looking over at Jazz quizzically.

 

“Mmm…” Jazz folded his arms and cocked a hip. “Maybe cute like pixie-cute. Not baby-cute, that’s different.”

 

“Really? Like fairytale stories of Earth? With Faeries and Unicorns, Gryphons and... and Dragons?” The little Seeker piped up cheerfully.

 

One corner of Jazz’s mouth turned up. “Yeah–not many who know those old Earth myths anymore. Not even many humans, I bet. Been a long time.” Jazz’s expression shifted between humor and sadness. “Yeah–humans pack a lotta livin’ into a little time.”

 

“Yeah... I know... wonder what became of the Donovan family. Shan’s parents were really nice to me...too. I was sorta an adopted son to them. It was... really nice. They even let me take all three of their kids to Ireland once... we had so much fun then. I was their means of transportation, of course!” Devision giggled at that… “It’s kinda weird to have three human children inside one’s cockpit...but not entirely unpleasant.”

 

“Yeah–but you get used to it after a while.” Jazz looked away, pensive. “Some of ‘em never got comfortable with ridin’ in someone else, but a lot of ‘em loved it. We’re better drivers and got better cornering.”

 

“I’m sure that’s true. Humans tend to err in their driving or flying.” The little Seeker muttered. “Uh, Jazz, would you consider it murder if a day-old sparkling was given an injection to end them because they were weak? Or… similarly, if someone crashed and… and the damage was quite extensive and would have required serious expense of finances and time to repair them-though they could be repaired-but instead received an injection to end them?”

 

 

“Whoa.” Jazz turned and sat down at the foot of the bed. “Heavy topic. What brought that to mind?”

 

“Well, carrying always makes me think about the previous ones... and what became of them. Which is almost always-mostly-bad. And... and if things were different, how they might have fared then... of course, if things were different, and they had been born free, and seen as the people they were meant to be... they either would not have existed at all... or they would not have met the fate they did. The ones that did not last...if they had been on Vosnia, they would have still been alive and well. They would have had every effort made to save them. If they had been Autobots... they would probably still be alive today. Instead of dying so pitifully young. Or if they had been Autobots and someone did that to them... it would be seen as murder.” The little Seeker replied with an air of sorrow and deep disappointment. 

 

“But... they were just Seekers worthless, interchangeable nothings... put-down like animals when they’re not... but what does it matter? They were just property. Easily replaceable if utterly destroyed. What’s one Seeker to another? Why spend the expense of fixing a broken damaged one when you can just buy another one, or perhaps two or more, for less then it would cost to fix the damaged one?” The little Seeker gave a heavy sigh, there was hurt and disappointment and bitterness in his tone. And he could not face Jazz at the moment, deeply depressed. “I... I’m sorry... I hate being a downer, but... it’s mostly all I have in life... so much misery.... and... very little good to balance it out... even my time with the Decepticons during the war was... well they hated me... I’ll say that much.” Devision crawled over to Jazz, nuzzling him both fearfully and wanting comfort. “So much bad... so much evil...” he muttered softly. 

 

 

“Not much point cryin’ over it or talkin’ about it,” Jazz said, his tone brittle. “Not like it’s gonna change.” He put his hand on Devision’s midsection, where fluid was again starting to collect, but didn’t stroke or rub.

 

 

“But... but Jazz... I don’t think that’s true... I think things CAN change... if only someone steps up to trying. It’s just, no one wants to make the effort. No one wants to be my hero... just as, I would like to hope that Autobots and Decepticons could reconcile their differences and... if not... that ‘Cons could at least be freed and exiled from this damned planet... and if neither of those are possible... then Primus, please give me the means to genocide all of the Decepticons... I’d do it to end their suffering. I really would. Their ends would be favorable to this... this vileness...is the worst... Though, I would much rather things could work out... just like I wish... that.... but you’re probably right. No one wants to change the world but me. And fat lot of good that’ll do. You’ve already said it would only get you in some hot water and I’d end up in the mnemosurgery lab.” The little Seeker whimpered, shuddering violently. “I don’t want to be there and I don’t want you in trouble, either. That’s no solution at all. Neither is bitter hatred.... love is...” Devision buried his helm into Jazz’s arm, whimpering. “Still, something’s gotta give... this cannot go on forever and I’m not gonna last another million years of this.. I just cannot...”

 

 

“I’m not gonna let you kill yourself,” Jazz said harshly. “Don’t care what you say about it–you better believe I’ll have your memory edited if I have to to stop you doing that. You got a couple little lives in you.”

 

“I don’t want to kill myself or my little ones. Or anyone, really, even when the hate and bitterness seize me and I desire vengeance against the Autobots... I.. I would rather see my peoples free... It’s my first goal. Free my peoples and send them into exile from this despicable existence and place... THEN, and only then... would I consider the second goal. Why didn’t the Autobots exile us in the first place? Or just kill us outright? Both would have been preferable.” Devision sighed, nuzzling into Jazz, “Please, don’t alter my memories... please...” the little Seeker pleaded. “I’m not gonna harm myself, nor the little ones, nor you or anyone... I promise! But I will try to achieve justice... somehow... I cannot stand for anything less than what’s just and right... just like I have ALWAYS done... and this slavery-thing... is not so, Jazz... I think you know that it’s not just as well as I do.” 

 

“Been there, did that, got the political enemies,” Jazz said curtly. “Don’t need any more.”

 

“So... you... you’re not going to be my hero then...” The little Seeker whimpered softly, sighing in disappointment. “No one will be. Just as no one’s ever gonna be my friend, and forget about anyone ever being my lover.... who would ever love me, anyway?” He muttered sadly, nuzzling into Jazz more for his own sense of comfort but knowing Jazz would not help him out in that. He cannot trust the Autobot. He could not trust anyone.

 

“The heroes are long gone,” Jazz told him gruffly. “You want friends, you want love? Quit moanin’ about no one bein’ a friend or lovin’ you. It gets old fast.” He got up. “Come on. I gotta get to work.”

 

“Fine.” The little Seeker muttered bitterly. “Though you do realize, it’s not possible, right? Slaves cannot have friends or lovers. Especially not from an Autobot... it would never ever forever be.” He growled and sighed miserably. “Am I going with you then? Or what?” Devision changed his tone, a bit, curious. He was still depressed but he was once-again burying it deep within. Jazz obviously didn’t care... so what was the point in expressing himself?

 

 

“You’re comin’ along,” Jazz grunted. “You start talkin’ about love and slavery and all the other shit that’s no good for anything but makin’ yourself depressed or crazy, though, and I’ll glue your mouth shut. There’s more than one bot hates me enough to be the guy who went to all the trouble to buy you and leave you trussed-up at my door, and I’m not sure who it is yet. There’s not a lot of room for love on Cybertron these days, but there’s always more space for hate.” 

 

He stopped and turned on his heel as though Devision had spoken in accusation. “You read me? We tried. Didn’t work. We tried again, and again, and all that came out’ve it was a bunch of us disappearing or having to run off into space before they disappeared too. It’s real easy to talk about revenge and justice and freedom. It’s a hell of a lot harder to make it happen when only one or two out’ve every hundred thousand people are willing to even listen, and more are comin’ every day. I can make keepin’ you look like I’m just taking advantage, like there’s nothing to be suspicious about, no subversive thinking or planning to investigate. Maybe even keep the kids, if I spin it right. But I can’t hide a revolution, and I’m not gonna throw myself down the Pit for a hopeless cause. Got me?”

 

“You... you would glue my mouth shut? Beat me? Put more kids in me that’ll be hated and seen as property, would you?” He asked, it was not a challenge more an uncertainty, born of fear, with the little Seeker shying away from Jazz fearfully, before he paused... “Wait...you might be able to keep the kids?” Devision glanced up at Jazz in disbelief. “Are you... serious that...that... might be possible?” 

 

 

Jazz whuffed. “Yeah, it’s possible. But I got a few records in a few of the wrong files. If it looks like I’m being too good to my ‘Con, there’s gonna be some who get to lookin’ back through those records, wondering if maybe I’m thinking about stirring up trouble again. Long as you act like my little lap pet and I act like there’s nothing weird about flying Seekers like kites and breedin’ ‘em for profit or just for fun, no one’s gonna bother asking why I’m keepin’ baby Seekers around. Once the cameras turn my way, I have to start making decisions I really don’t want to make. See where I’m goin’?”

 

 

“Yes. Okay. I think I can do that... but... could you please be honest with me when you’re home...? Please... ? Let me know if you really don’t feel it’s right... please, Jazz?” Devision whimpered softly, looking up and pleading with his “Master”... “Even if you cannot do anything about it... knowing you agree... that alone would count for a lot...” The Seeker replied casually, heading towards Jazz slowly, shy but determined. “And if there’s anything, any way that I could help you with the cost of affording my kids, I will gladly lend my services to make it possible... even in the berth, if it must come to that... so long as we can keep more from being created? Please?” Devision pleaded more, longingly hopeful.

 

 

Jazz just looked down at the little slave, clearly thinking. Then he carefully took hold of Devision and sank to one knee. He ran his hands over his slave, feeling into every seal and joint without expression or apology. Then he followed up with something small enough that it was all but hidden in his hand as he scanned Devision with it. Only after these thorough inspections did he let go. “OK–I don’t think you’re carryin’ any kind of bug. I wouldn’t put it past some to try slipping a little something into you while you were out and I wasn’t watchin’.” 

 

He subspaced the little scanning device. “You want the truth–all I know anymore is that it’s been a long time and I’m tired. Far as I know most’ve the ‘Cons who actually fought the war are long gone. Buying and selling you, any bot with a Spark, that’s takin’ Cybertron right back where it was before the war. Slowin’ us down, too–who knows what this world would be like if a ‘Con could make his way up the ladder usin’ his brain? It’s not right, never will be. But it’s a fight I can’t afford to start for a lotta reasons.” He ran the backs of his knuckles across Devision’s chest, over the Spark cradle where the tiny new lives were silently growing and gathering strength. 

 

“I can’t even promise you you won’t have to earn your keep in someone’s bed. I’ll promise that that’s gonna be the last resort, after I run out of ideas and I’ve run everyone I know out of ideas. Right now, I’m gonna make sure everyone hears that those little tykes are mine, and that I’m planning to keep you carrying as long as your chamber holds out. Anyone asks you, I spike you whenever I feel like it, and I’ve told you I’m gonna keep the kids just until they get to fetch-and-carry age. That’ll be enough cover for a while.”

 

 

“Yeah. I wanted to bring Cybertron back to it’s Golden Age... that’s why I came back to rebuild Vos for the returning Seekers... but then... things went sour...” The Seeker said sadly. He sighed, frowning. “I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get. My other skills... though, if they could be put to use... maybe... as a painter, jeweler, sculptor, architect... and the other things I’ve picked up along the way... if those skills could help you...” He left his offer stand without going further. “Do slaves ever entertain by dance, or singing? Or... as actors? I could do that as well... perhaps?” Devision did not look up at Jazz but he nuzzled against him, hoping for petting and comfort a little.

 

 

“Yeah–but I’m not gonna risk you on stage if I don’t have to.” Jazz stroked one of Devision’s wings, gently leaving a trail of his scent across the delicate plating. “Architecture’s out–restricted profession. Visual art–maybe. Lemme check with some people I know.”

 

 

“Oh... okay. What’s the danger of being on stage? Or is it just the exposure itself is the danger? And who is Architecture restricted to? Just curious... I... I do have an insatiable curiosity, just to let ya know... it’s why I studied so much in such varied subjects. Practically was a career student on Ardenia much of the time. If we had Velle, or a ship fast enough... Gem Planet would hold all the riches we could ever need and then some... but only the fastest most agile ships can navigate the space anomalies and asteroid belt around her... which is why no one knows of her but me. As far as I am aware. Helps if a ship has phase-shifting capabilities too... but... going to Earth somehow... would make that more likely.” The little Seeker muttered, unwittingly going off in a tangent. “Uh, sorry.” He looked up at Jazz. “Well, I’ll help you any way I can that won’t get us in trouble...Okay?” Purring at the petting, and nuzzling Jazz some more. 

 

“Yeah.” Jazz stroked the leading edges of Devision’s wings for a long moment, then got to his feet. “Come on. Work to do.”

 

Devision purred a bit more. Noting that Jazz did not answer the questions at the moment, Devison decided to let it go. Jazz needed to get to work, so he was not going to trouble him further. He would ask later. Curious as to who Architecture was restricted to though. But he just gave a little wing-shrug and replied in a semi-forced chipper attitude, “Okay!” 

 

 

Jazz towed Devision on his leash and in chains across the district and into a building that seemed to have been built to be confusing. Devision saw Seekers–they were everywhere, all of them in chains to some degree or another and at least half partially deprived of senses. Blindfolds were most common, but sound dampeners were also in use. Why slaves were there at all could only be accounted for by vanity and cruelty–Devision saw one Seeker blindly squirming in his owner’s lap as Jazz led him past a cracked-open office door, and heard a muffled moan from elsewhere–a slave’s cry of physical need and emotional despair. 

 

Jazz led his little slave into an office just big enough to accommodate an enormous desk and data console, two visitor’s chairs–and a small Seeker nest tucked under part of the desktop. It was the only space big enough to accommodate the nest. Jazz fastened Devision’s leash to one of the nest’s anchor rings, but didn’t insist Devision get in.

 

The sight of the other Seekers in chains, worse still in blindfolds or sound-dampeners, upset him terribly, he whimpered and whined miserably. Though he kept his mouth shut and said nothing. It was wrong. He knew that. But to say anything or fuss about it beyond whimpers or whines, would only be trouble. Instead, he focused on what he could make a difference on, nuzzling into Jazz for a small level of comfort. Not near enough to make up for his own suffering, or that of the other Seekers, but he had to grasp for what little comforts and pleasures he could get-for now. 

 

Jazz tugged Devision and pushed him to his knees, then guided the slave’s head to his owner’s thigh, making him convenient for petting with one hand while Jazz read through encrypted documents.

 

Devision did not fuss, and knelt before Jazz, laying his helm on his Master’s lap for greater comfort, trying to soak up the petting to counter the bad vibes the place held with all the slaves and their misery. He had to tune it out-for now. Purring softly, he offlined his optics and just lived in the moment. Trying to forget all else.

 

Jazz spent only half the day at the office. He led Devision back out early in the afternoon and took him home. He didn’t allow his slave a word until he’d toured the entire apartment with his tiny scanner and flipped an assortment of switches. Then he released Devision from his shackles and removed the leash, leaving only the collar around the Seeker’s neck. 

 

Devision watched his Master curiously, but kept quiet as Jazz needed him to stay quiet. Staying close, at first he did not say anything. “So, who is the profession of Architecture restricted to?” Devision asked softly.

 

“Bots who got the money to get the right certifications and the right connections,” Jazz answered. He sank to the sofa. “Same goes for a lot of other high-profile work.”

 

“Oh. So it’s not much better than the Caste system, is it?” The little Seeker asked, heading over to Jazz for (hopefully) cuddles. “Not like Vosnia at all.”

 

“You got it,” Jazz confirmed sadly. “Something you want, little guy?”

 

“That’s never going to bring back Cybertron’s Golden Age... pay to play is never fair. Nor is slavery... So how did this come to be?” The little Seeker muttered, not expecting an answer. He moved closer to Jazz, too unsure if he were permitted on the couch on his own volition or not. 

 

“Yeah, cuddles and pets, please?” He looked up at Jazz hopefully.

 

“Are you askin’ because you like having your belly rubbed or because you’re scared I’ll beat you if you don’t?” Jazz asked, cautiously neutral.

 

 

“Not afraid that you’ll beat me right now... I haven’t even done anything! Not that that’s... nevermind, it’s not good to think about the others who have had me...” The little Seeker muttered. “And, it’s really complicated... sometimes... sometimes it’s nothing but pleasant... other-times... it brings up bad feelings and memories, but I try to squelch those. Or numb myself to it...Then again, sometimes it’s just weird... being mech-handled and all frequently and by total strangers, and not always in places I want to be handled... It’s always a little different. I just try to play it off as loving pleasant touch... ‘cause that’s the only way to make a lot of it bearable. Sometimes I believe it, sometimes not. Also, when it happens as often as it does for me, you sorta get used to it... I guess.” 

 

Devision looked down at the floor shyly. “It’s always a mixed bag. Never know how I’m gonna feel about it until it happens, but when the bad feelings come, I just try and suppress them. One must use whatever tricks it takes to get by and through it... but yes, there are a lot of times when I do like the attention. I do like to cuddle a lot. I mean, do you think you would like it if total strangers touched you all over, regardless of where and what you said, thought or did about it?”

 

A shadow flicked over Jazz’s face. “No. That’s why I asked. Come on up and make yourself comfortable, if you want.”

 

“Thanks, Jazz.” Devision got up on the couch and settled beside Jazz. “Don’t mind your touch so much, you haven’t hurt me... yet.” The Seeker replied softly. Still a little shy and hesitant on what to do but he wanted to be close to Jazz since Jazz was his only likely source of comfort and familiarity at this time and given his circumstances. 

 

“Not planning on hurtin’ ya,” Jazz told him. He let Devision see him reach in case he wanted the hand to land somewhere other than his chest and belly. “Might have to feel you up in the wrong way now and then for cover, though.”

 

“Oh, compared to what the other owners have done or even the crew on the Predation... should be a walk in the park, I would think...” Devision was casual about his tone except he said the word owners with an obvious distaste and venom. “Besides, I can play the role Autobots want of me... it’s how I’ve survived so long despite it all. Just let me know what’s required, and I’ll play it up... okay? Only thing I really hate is damned wing clamps and bindings... or that mistaken belief that covering Seeker optics or dampening our senses calms us... farthest thing from the truth, total bollocks!” 

 

“Play it by ear,” Jazz said vaguely. He rubbed Devision’s chest in slow circles. “I gotta have a set of wing clamps, that’s law, but only a few places I gotta use ‘em. I didn’ know the blindfold thing was wrong–but now that I think about it, I never saw a ‘Con settle down for a nap in the middle of a fight just cause someone threw a few tar balls in his face.”

 

 

“Well, Seekers are a bit different from the other ‘Cons too... we have to see the sky... as much as possible, or it’s very very detrimental to our health. Being that I’m so small, I don’t get nearly as badly affected by small enclosed spaces... I don’t have the worry that I couldn’t transform and fly in, say a cave or tunnel... not like the larger ones... but being in a tight enclosed space is very bad. Claustrophobia is a big deal for Seekers. Though I doubt any ‘Con would be calm about that. Just because you’re blindfolded doesn’t mean all is going to be okay. In fact, that’s often when you flip to panic-mode because you don’t know what or who is coming at you. Nor what they intend to do with ya. You lock up or go limp in dread of the unknown. Seemingly more manageable, but only because you fear that resistance with make things a thousand times worse...” Devision sighed. 

 

“Probably is more likely that they wore themselves out from their state of panic and dread... and recharge was easier on their systems then continuing that state of dread. Or that they had learned to train themselves to sleep or appear calm, conditioning themselves to be what the Autobots wanted from them. I’ve been guilty of doin that. Give ‘em what they want since they don’t want the truth and acting out the truth’ll be detrimental to oneself...” 

 

“Yeah.” Jazz just rubbed, thinking. “I know about the sky-hunger–” he used the Vosnian word with only a slight drag of his Polyhexian accent “–and I think I got something worked out. You gotta get painted first, then do the flight control tests, but there are options.”

 

“You... you know Vosnian?” Devision looked up at Jazz in curiosity, “fluently?” A slight wing-shrug, as if it were nothing, though the look in his optics could not stop the inquisitive and amazement from showing in the little Seeker.

 

“Hmm... we see the twins later, don’t we?” Devision asked, casually. Relaxed.

 

“Just a little Vosnian,” Jazz answered, pronouncing the phrase with care. “And yeah, Sunstreaker said he’d have some designs ready later today.” 

 

“Oh. Too bad Seekers are no longer permitted to speak it...probably lost most of those who spoke it from the war and from the enslavement of Seekers. Dead language with no hope to recover it... unless things did change. I doubt Autobot scholars study the language... I may well be one of the last few native speakers.”

 

“It’s not forgotten,” Jazz told him. “I still hear it now and then. Not the scholarly or high-style kind, but here and there…” he trailed off with a shrug, moving his hand down to Devision’s belly plating–and stopping as his palm encountered a little bump. It sat high on the left side of Devision’s gestation chamber–the Spark cradle was beginning to grow, right outside the passage through which the Sparklet would eventually slide to meet its container. For now, though, it was just a firm knob and Devision’s owner was fingering it with something like wonder.

 

“That’s good at least. Glad it’s not gone completely.” Devision sighed, a little sigh of relief. “You never had a kid, huh?” Devision asked softly.

 

“No,” Jazz answered, and there was something he didn’t want to talk about beneath the word. He stroked the bump. “How long’s that been there? Big enough to feel, I mean?”

 

“Oh, I wasn’t really paying it much mind… because of all else that’s happened… um… but I tend to feel them pretty early on…so I don’t have an answer to that.” Devision said softly.

 

“You don’t wish to speak of not having a kid, hm? That’s okay. I cannot say I’m not curious, ‘cause that’d be a lie, but I won’t pry... I’ll respect it, Jazz. Maybe you’ll tell me in time, maybe you won’t. Anyway, so... just until the little ones are able to fetch and carry things? Then they have to go?”

 

“Maybe,” Jazz answered. “Maybe. There’s time to work it out before this one shows up.” His hand was on the tiny knob, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

 

“So, are you well-sparked?” Devision asked Jazz softly, purring softly. “What will you be willing to tell me about your past?”

 

Jazz returned from his reverie and thought his answer through before he spoke. “I got a lotta past. You ask me a question and I’ll tell ya whether I feel like answering.”

 

“Got any family? Or are you Well-sparked? Are your friends essentially your family instead, if you are Well-sparked?

 

“I got friends,” Jazz said quietly. “Sparked by Vector Sigma, all of us.”

 

“Oh. I had family, some of the older ones were sparked by Vector Sigma, but the rest of us... we were all carried. My twin and I were third generation. My Carrier’s Carrier’s Carrier was Well-sparked. My Sire’s Sire’s Sire was Well-sparked also.”

 

“You think bein’ carried makes you better’n comin’ from Vector Sigma?” Jazz asked, hard.

 

“N...no! Not at all... why ya gotta be so harsh?” The little Seeker whined. “Only difference is ya got family... whether they wanted you or not...” Devision squirmed, whimpering, shying away from Jazz a bit.

 

“Sorry,” Jazz said shortly. “Bad memories.” He went back to fingering the lump in Devision’s abdomen.

 

“Yeah, we all got those... ‘specially those of us that lived through the war.” The little Seeker whimpered. “So, why does the law require those nasty wing clamps? And what sort of places require them and why?” The Seeker gave an involuntary wing-shudder. “They hurt real bad...”

 

“No ‘Cons in the legislative buildings without wing clamps,” Jazz grunted, only partially mollified. “Don’ ask me why, I’m no psychologist.”

 

“That’s so not fair!” Devision protested with a whine... “Not all ‘Cons even have wings... bet that’s specifically designed as a way to torture Seekers. They probably like it when our wings go so numb and senseless... that we cannot move them for hours or days if not properly massaged... sadistic fraggers...” The little Seeker whimpered and whined more. Violent little wing shudders followed and Devision curled up a bit, whimpering softly. 

 

 

“Yup,” Jazz agreed. “Like I said, I’m not a psychologist. I don’t get why some bots like torture. Nothing fun about it. It’s the power trip, I guess. Bots who’re scared of being weak and too dumb to see that’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ve pounded on some ‘Cons, when I had to, but that was war and I had guys counting on me. Different story if you’re just doin’ it to pass the time.”

 

“Absolutely different. Least you did so to keep alive and help your buddies out and fight for what you believe in... those others... they’re just vile sadists... it’s disgusting... those power-hungry ones are just evil...” More little shudders from the Seeker. “I had way too many of them.”  
“Yeah, you did,” Jazz agreed, preoccupied. He continued rubbing the knob in Devision’s abdomen, but said nothing else, his mind elsewhere.

 

Devision reached shyly to Jazz’s servo, and stroked the top of his servo, and slipped, though hesitantly, his digits in between Jazz’s with a shy whimper. “Uh, Jazz…I…” Squirming a bit in Jazz’s lap, the little Seeker whimpered some more, embarrassed as he was a bit riled up in a way he was not sure if he could discuss his issue with Jazz though.

 

Jazz roused himself from his reverie. “Hm?” He stopped rubbing. “What’s the word, little guy?”

 

“I...er...need...um...” He just could not bring himself to saying it yet. “I... I don’t know how put it...”

 

“Just put it, then,” Jazz answered, his attention sharpening in curiosity. “You want fancy words, I’ll make some up for you later.”

 

“I... I wanna ‘face... I k...kinda n... need to...” He whimpered out softly, shy and uncertain, drawing his legs closer together and squirming some. Devision did not look at Jazz though, because he was so shy and insecure about his situation and that Jazz was still a relative stranger to him.

 

“You need to?” Jazz repeated. “Even though you’re carryin’?”

 

 

“Th...that’s... n...never stopped me before...” Devision whimpered softly, he was trembling slightly, “w...worst it can do is lead to m...more...right?” He curled up burying his helm in Jazz’s lap, squirming some as he trembled still. Muttering, “I.. I cannot help it, just ‘cause one’s carrying does not mean the urges for ‘facing stop... unlike the urge to fly, ‘facing urges don’t go away so easily. I... I knew I shouldn’t of said anything...” His wings flicked a bit in annoyance and uncertainty bordering on fear... fear of punishment or reprimand. 

 

“‘S okay,” Jazz told him. “I’ve heard about the overcharged mating drive–I just thought it was one of those stories that gets around. Other ‘Cons never–well…” He rubbed over Devision’s back, down between his wings to his hips. “You want another Seeker or can I get you through it?”

 

“Other ‘Cons never what?” The little Seeker asked curiously, looking up at Jazz, “yeah, for Seekers, it’s true... regardless of our being carriers at the time or not... though they probably exaggerate the extent of it based on a rare few...” Devision said softly, “you could... if you... if you would...” Devision said softly, purring a bit now at the petting. It felt good. Especially given his drive right now.

 

“I can try,” Jazz said, dubious. “‘S been a while, and you’re little. I know the bots who put this here,” he patted the knob of developing Spark cradle “didn’ care if it hurt, but I’m not into pain, you know?”

 

“That’s good. Sadists are very scary.” Devision shuddered. He had known way too many of them in his life. From fellow Decepticons he had served with, to Autobots who had owned him in his long duration of being a slave in this unfair system they had created. He nuzzled into Jazz, “Please try....” He whimpered softly, pleadingly.

 

“Just clear me one thing,” Jazz stated firmly. “This is physiology, you’re tellin’ the truth. You’re not just scared I’ll pound you flat or sell you on the open market or something if you don’t open up. Am I readin’ it right?” His face and voice were neutral–with his optics shielded by the visor it was all but impossible to pinpoint where he was looking or what he was thinking. Which was likely why he wore it.

 

“Wha? Uh… this is just physical need… starting from the n…night before… an’ building from there… I… I don’t typically choose to ‘face with Autobots, no… ‘cause they’re scary…” Devision looked at Jazz, trying to read him but it was impossible, and it frightened him more because of that. Jazz was scary when he kept pulling this kind of mood. The little Seeker trembled, looking away, he didn’t like what he was hearing from Jazz. Why does he keep asking if I’m just afraid of being beaten or-worse-speaking of selling me- all over again?

 

Devision went quiet for a time, then spoke really softly, detached, “I hate it when you say stuff like that, Jazz, it’s really really scary… I don’ wanna be sold again. There’s no way of knowing who’s gonna buy ya or for what…” He whimpered and paused before continuing, picking up a bit more of a paranoid anxiety, sitting up and pulling away from Jazz a bit, looking at him quizzically, as if trying to gauge on whether there was a threat to follow-through on Jazz’s part, “Wha…what if I am to be used for prostitution-you think I would wanna be forced to spread my legs for any and every Autobot who wants me? Like I haven’t already done that before, more times than I can even count or care to remember. Don’t even remember much of it as it is… it’s all kinda blended into one blur. Only remember the Autobot’s who have used me. Don’ like being used because it’s disgusting and wrong! No one should be forced to ‘face with anyone. No matter what. I firmly believe ‘facing should only be if both parties are willing. It hurt bad enough when the other ‘Cons used me, and was a shock when the Autobots went and did the same. I… I never really expected that and the situation of being bred like I was just an animal… And I still have a hard time believing that there really are Autobots so sparkless as to breed a Seeker or any ‘Con type until their spark gives out-’cause that’s just vile and evil on so many levels… this whole enslavement system is vile and evil on multiple levels… and I definitely do not wanna end up once again as a private sex-slave. Or return to the slave-porn industry all over again. Who knows what other evils they do to us…it could be even worse than that… please, I hope that you… that you wouldn’t really do that… would you?” Visibly shaking now, the little Seeker searched Jazz, frustration evident in his lack of being able to read the Autobot. He was terrified and did not know what to do. Distrust and paranoia, fear and anxiety creating a cocktail of negative emotions the little Seeker was having a hard time keeping in check. Wings flattened tight against his frame-never a good sign for a Seeker-and he vented heavily. 

 

“No,” Jazz said firmly. He paused for a moment to arrange his thoughts. “Y’see, there’s a real balance of power thing going on here. I got the legal authority to do pretty much anything I want with you. You got nothin’. I know some things about Seekers, but these days it’s hard to tell what’s real and what the guys scared of losin’ power and face made up. I’m not thinkin’ of selling ya or opening you up to anyone who wants to pay–never liked that idea.” He stroked Devision’s chest. 

 

“‘Facin’s not the same thing as kite-flying, you know? I wanna make sure you’re asking because you need it to stay healthy or you want to, not because you’re scared of what will happen if you don’t. Read me?”

 

 

“Jazz, I’m not stupid or a mindless drone… I know there’s a power dynamic here. You hold 100% of the power in this relationship or whatever it is, and I don’t have any options. Your fellow Autobots made sure there was no course of fairness or kindness in this establishment of slavery. They could have at least given us rights to be free from abuse, or other mistreatment, but no… that would lessen the appeal of having a ‘Con as a slave. The sadistic bastards. I wish they would get their comeuppance-I would love to see their afts handed to them on a platter… I mean, why slavery?” 

 

A pause from the Seeker a moment.

 

“This is the worst! Why not just exile us off Cybertron? That would have been far more humane. And far more in-line with Autobot ideals, I think. Or, for Primus’s sake, it would have been better to commit genocide! Honestly, I wish those Autobots responsible for this very institutional slavery-thing would have just had us all killed off and done with… because that would have been a blessing compared to this nightmarish hell they’ve put my people through. I wish I could end it all… one way or another. Given that Autobots have the power, there are only three ways I can see that happening. "

 

"One, exile us from Cybertron for good. Two, give us our freedom and try and reconcile the differences between Autobot and Decepticon and build the bridges and reparations between the two-something I tried to do in the past, after the war ended. I always led the Seekers under my authority and the other ‘Con-types to give up the hatred and fight and to try to make friends of the Autobots, forgive maybe not forget, but at least to move beyond it and work towards bringing back the Golden Age of Cybertron for a second Golden Age. That was my goal for the longest time. Then the restrictions on Decepticons got stronger and stronger, and though we suffered under such oppression, I STILL tried to guide my fellow ‘Cons toward peace and friendship, and tried to continue to follow my motto of Love, Compassion, Empathy and Understanding… believing that those things would bridge the differences and allow reparations and co-existence of Autobots and Decepticons. But it seems it was not enough. This institution of slavery is everything I have ALWAYS fought against. It’s oppression at its worst, Jazz. "

 

"This is what I stood against as the Blue Rogue. It’s wrong. But it seems I’m more Autobot then most Autobots these days. I just cannot let injustice stand no matter where or how or to whom it is applied to… that’s just how I am. It really feels like a slap in the face, to see that despite all my attempts and convincing and trying to keep my fellow ‘Cons from starting another war, even when we were being clamped down on more and more, that it was all in vain, for what? So we could be beaten, killed and tortured for what end? It’s all pointless cruelty. It’s wrong. But there’s nothing I can do about. If I knew how to target biological warfare to specifically eliminate all Decepticons, I would do it in a sparkbeat, right here, right now… and end this despicable depraved practice once and for all. I would end their suffering for good and it would be an act of mercy. None of us would ever have to suffer again. Only if it could also eliminate the possibilty of any more Decepticons being Vector Sigma sprung, that would be needed too. If I could do that, I would without any hesitation. Then you Autobots would never have to worry about us ‘Cons ever again. We’d all win. Except that we would not. That would be a disservice to us all. Irony at it’s best, I guess. I know it’s unlikely any of these scenarios are going to play out."

 

“Especially if those otherwise ‘good’ Autobots- if there are any anymore even-such as yourself-are either too indifferent, too jaded, or simply too cowardly to stand up for what is right, then nothing will ever change. I know it’s unlikely. I know it’s a difficult task… but it has to be done. SOMETHING has to give. Or this planet and it’s peoples are more doomed than ever. If that is the case, then I hope the Scorpionans come here and mark Cybertron for conquest. Or eliminate us all in the attempt. In the highly unlikely event of that, I doubt I would even give the antidote to their venom away to save anyone. Nor would I lift a digit to show Autobots the weaknesses and only places the Scorpions can be seriously harmed or killed. I would just watch and wait and let them fall. Why should I bother saving those that do not care to save me or my peoples? But, seeing as no hero’s exist among Autobots anymore and you are certainly no hero of mine… what’s the point?“

 

“I’ll probably just waste away and die younger than I ought, just like the majority of ‘Con slaves. And this practice will continue for who knows how much longer after I’m gone. And no one will care. No one will even bat an optic at my passing. They would never know how much I tried and would have tried to reconcile things between our peoples. I… I’m sorry… I went off topic but this is just really important to me. I’d give everything I am to end this for them… I’d gladly take all their suffering onto my self if they could be free of it!” Devision fixed Jazz with a look that was neither malicious nor accusing, just solemn and sad, yet focused… but the passionate fire was evident in his optics and stance. The determination to do right and just. His conviction to free his peoples firm and unwavering, even in the face of obvious and likely failure. Because it was the right thing to do. Devision seemed to have an air of it being a sacred duty that he was compelled to do.”

 

“So you ask if I am trying to ‘face with you to stave off punishment or abuse? Well, admittedly, I have done that in the past, yes. But this is different. In the past I never asked to ‘face with Autobots out of my need before. Never. I would try and get other Seekers for that if I could. And for the record, I’m always afraid of what will happen to me. Every second of every day since I’ve been made a slave-boy. And not just for myself, but for all my little ones past, present and currently gestating and for all my peoples. It’s a constant state for me. So that’s not likely to change until or if I am free again. I have a duty to them all. To stand as ambassador between Autobots and Decepticons. Self-appointed, it may be but it’s still as valid a duty as any other. Maybe more so.”

 

“Nothin’ like a little martyrdom to kill the mood, if there’s a mood to begin with,” Jazz told him, unimpressed. “You got reasons to have a complex or ten, but I’m not the one you gotta preach to, okay? I tried, and tried again, and again, and again, until I got jailed and a bot I cared about a lot got dead. I’ll try to make it bearable for ya, but I’m not gonna get any more friends exiled or executed, and I’m not gonna take off for the other side of the galaxy either. You got a problem with that, I’ll turn you loose and you can see if you can find somethin’ better somewhere else.”

 

 

“If I could get to Earth, I would have a chance at things… but that’s not likely to happen, is it?” Devision growled bitterly glaring at Jazz a moment, clearly frustrated and angry, before he muttered, “Fine. Perhaps another Seeker then, probably better that way anyway. At least they would be my equals. So the Twins have any? Seekers, that is, since they do have slaves right? So maybe if they have a suitable intact Seeker. Not one of the ones that have had their spike and related removed.” Devision muttered as he fixed Jazz with a stare that was both searching and full of evident frustration, mixed with a tinge of distrust and fear.

 

“Twins got some Seekers, yeah,” Jazz grunted. He got up. “Let’s go see if they got your paint ready.”  
“Okay. This just some further planning, right? When would the actual process start though? And how long would it take?” The small Seeker asked, curiously, eager for the change of subject to something a bit more agreeable to both Seeker and Autobot. 

 

“Depends on whether or not Sunny has to draw some new designs. If he’s done something you like and I’m okay with, Sides will probably walk you right into the strip booth.” Jazz wasn’t about to be completely mollified immediately.

 

“Oh. Okay. Uh, would they know a good place for art supplies and for wire for weaving or knitting or crochet type use... or I don’t suppose there is synthetic cloth available on Cybertron, is there? Can’t imagine that natural fabrics are available here. Not like on Earth, Vosnia, Ardenia or Dakharr!” Devision said with a bitter disdain for Cybertron and seemed wistful about the organic worlds. He sighed heavily and went quiet for a time, lost in thought, missing those worlds and his family fiercely.

 

“Can the complaints, will ya?” Jazz unapologetically chained and leashed his slave.

 

Devision growled, glaring at Jazz and then the chains, slipping into a funk. He looked up at Jazz with a hurt, angry expression. “Fine.” He muttered bitterly. 

 

Jazz towed his property through the streets, both of them sullen and withdrawn. When they arrived at the twins’ shop, Sideswipe looked out at them and commented, “Who put used oil in your energon?”

 

“Hmph!” The little Seeker huffed, pouting. He glared at Jazz a moment then looked at the twins.


	5. Jazz and The Twins's Seekers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where Jazz can be a bit of a Jerk to Devision. Devision talks to much, complains too much, way too talkative at times... my overly-eager-to-have-a-friend Seeker slave-boy.

Jazz gave Devision a light cuff on the back of the head and towed him to the waiting room, where he sat, pulled his slave into his lap, and slid one hand between Devision’s thighs while using the other to cup the small Seeker’s jaw and pull his head back, exposing his throat. 

 

“I told you to can the attitude,” he murmured softly into Devision’s pickups. To the casual optic, Jazz was just passing the time by fondling his slave and keeping Devision from making much noise about it by holding his throat tightly enough to prevent the necessary motion of the vocal layers.

 

 

Devision whimpered at being cuffed, then squirmed as he was pulled into his Master’s lap. He trembled and growled at the unwelcome servo between his thighs and the grip on his throat. He glared at Jazz angrily, squirming, and whimpering softly.

 

 

Jazz tightened his grip and forced Devision’s head back a little further, completely cutting off sound. His other hand nudged Devision’s thighs open and thoroughly asserted ownership, not leaving a single millimeter of plating or seals unkneaded or unrubbed. “You want to put me on your enemies list, fine by me–but don’t expect me to be a nice guy if you do.” He put pressure on the seal around Devision’s valve guard, making it difficult to keep the plate closed. “You’re mine either way.”

 

Devision wanted to whimper, he wanted to whine. He was squirming a little, since he was uncomfortable with the handling. He didn’t like this, not one bit. Trembling, he tried to close his legs to keep Jazz from molesting him. The trembling Seeker was confused, and upset by the turn of events and did not know what to do. Fight or give up? Would giving up prove that this was okay?

 

 

Jazz increased the pressure, enough that Devision’s plate clip released and the plate lifted on its throw levers, preparatory to sliding aside and revealing Devision’s valve to all viewers. “Make up your mind,” Jazz murmured into Dev’s pickup. “You want me for a friend or an enemy? Can’t be both.”

 

 

Squirming, Devision wanted to whimper, wanted to whine, and was feeling embarrassment and discomfort at the predicament he was in... this was not right. Shuddering, physically, it felt good.. really good... but he did not want this. Not like this... not here in the open! Squirming, he vented heavily and then he went slack, going limp, relying on Jazz’s ability to support his weight. He trusted him enough for that much. Though he trembled, nervously agitated.

 

As soon as Devision surrendered and went limp, Jazz released the pressure and let Devision’s body snap the guard plate shut. He let go of the slave’s jaw and put both hands around him, supporting his weight and petting over the tiny lump of a growing Spark cradle within but not aggressively forcing the matter. Jazz said nothing, just holding Devision there and waiting.

 

 

“C...can a M...Master and a slave really be friends?” Devision spoke in an uncertain whisper, barely audible....voice faltering some. He trembled nervously, shy and unsure of himself. Wings tucking in tight against his frame. Fear and uncertainty in his optics as he looked up at Jazz questioningly.

 

“Only one way to find out,” Jazz answered so quietly that had Devision been an inch further away he wouldn’t have heard more than a soft humming. The bigger bot kept stroking gently. His visor hid the details of his expression and mood.

 

“Oh. S...so... y..you don’t know?” Devision asked uncertainly, he also spoke so softly that only Jazz would be within earshot.

 

“I know what I’ve seen,” Jazz answered. He fell silent and tightened his grip on Devision for a moment as another client walked in through the waiting room to the front desk, then relaxed and went on. “Looked to me like it was at least ‘good friends’, and I don’t think it was just a show, but I’m no mind reader.”

 

“I... I don’t follow... you mean you have seen some pairs that were like that?” He asked shyly, trembling a little. “M...Maelstrom w..was a m...mind-reader... and he was the scariest Seeker I ever knew...” Devision shuddered.

 

“Just a few,” Jazz murmured. “Just a few.” His hand started moving again, gently stroking and leaving his scent on and around Devision. “Mind-readin’s a real curse–known a few of them, too.” 

 

Devision shifted his wings, from tucked tightly flat against him to where they were back to approximately close to their comfortable resting place. He was still on edge, but he was evidently calming down and relaxing a bit more. 

 

“Yeah... especially when they use their talent to torment you...” Devision replied, speaking softly. “That’s really no fun.” He forced a laugh, mostly from shy uncertainty.

 

“So... uh...what records exist from the Decepticon ships Predation and the Nemesis? Is there... is there a way of figuring out if someone did something...?”

 

“We can talk about that at home,” Jazz murmured, even softer. “Lie back and relax for now, like you’re a little pet who never thinks about anythin’ more’n looking pretty and makin’ pricey little Seekers for your master. Sideswipe’s got a real picky client in there, he just commed that we’re gonna be here until Sunstreaker’s done with the bot he’s workin’ on right now.”

 

“Okay, Master…” Devision complied, relaxing back against Jazz, soft whimper as he nuzzled Jazz, seeking comfort from him. A slight tremble went through the petite Seeker but he sighed and mentally pushed the darker feelings aside. Trying to comply and behave. 

 

Jazz stroked and petted Devision for more than an hour before Sideswipe appeared, looking like he was trying to shake off an unpleasant smell. “Sorry about the wait. Come on back, we’ve got some drawings for you.”

 

Devision calmed enough to where he started purring, the petting was not so bad, and it helped him focus on the positive after such turmoil between Master and slave. When they were called back, he was almost to where he was energetically bubbly, and of a more cheery disposition.

 

Sideswipe called up four possible designs, each of them presented in both modes and an animated version. All of them accented the fine delicacy of Devision’s wings and the energy in his stride, and all of them placed accents reminiscent of his owner artfully along his body.

 

On closer inspection, all of them shared another feature. One all but hidden except when zoomed in upon. Had Jazz not insisted upon seeing it, Devision wouldn’t have noticed it at all.  
A soft growl at the sight of the markings that would go on his inner thighs and valve cover-one more distinction that marked him as a slave and not a free mecha. Other than that, he took an interest in the designs. Curiously looking over them and then pointing to one in particular.

 

“Like that one?” Jazz asked amiably. “It’s real Sunstreaker-type work.”

 

“I really hope that’s a compliment,” Sideswipe teased.

 

“It’s Sunny,” Jazz grinned. “No cheating with chrome or jumpy stripes. Just in-your-face here-I-am.”

 

“YES! I do! I really like blues and purples, an black and white. Together or separate. And the way the colors fade into each-other... that’s definitely a work of beauty...” Devision said purring since he was pleased with the color-scheme.

 

“You got time for him today?” Jazz asked Sideswipe.

 

“You okay with a couple of our staff doin’ the primer strip and re-spray?”

 

“If they’re good enough for Sunny, they’re good enough for me.”Jazz grinned. “How long’d it take to get ‘em workin’ to his specs?”

 

Sideswipe groaned. “Don’t ask. I lost count of how many times my beloved obsessive brother made them strip and recoat each other.”

 

Devision just lingered nearby Jazz watching the exchange of the two Autobots with curiosity and interest. Focused on them at the moment.

 

“He’s all yours, then,” Jazz said genially. “Got an estimate how long it’ll be?”  
“Depends–give us six hours to start with.”

 

“So-er... I do what then?” The petite Seeker asked, nervously wondering where and how he would be worked on... Sure, he’d been through repaint jobs before and kind of knew what to expect-but it was always a bit of an anxiety-inducer. Mostly from being handled, and especially since being a slave-boy, from the lack of being told what was going on and/or at having a say at all in it when it did happen and what would happen. Since Autobot Oppressors rarely talked to or told their slaves what to expect or what would be done to them until it was happening.

 

“You go with Sideswipe,” Jazz answered, satisfied. “He’ll take you to get stripped down. It’s all up from there. Two or three layers of primer, then base coats, then Sunstreaker does the fine details, then the clear-coat and hardener.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okie dokie! Nice deal that... but then, you guys go far back, huh? War-time buddies... an all. Wish I had war-buddies... all I got was... well, my mates are no more and I think I know why... Maelstrom and his mates had somethin’ ta do with it. I am certain. He wanted Downdraft’s post as Science Officer and Challenger had the chance to gain Descent’s post as chief Medic- and they all wanted me. So, eliminate my protectors... and... you get the picture... “ He sighed and paused a moment.

 

 

“Though I’m sure the other officers probably had some interest or gain on the movement. Acid Rain… she would have welcomed the elimination if it meant the likelihood of removing a future problem.” He chirped away. Chipper, despite the fact that he was talking about intentional murder and shadowy schemes of the ‘Cons of the Predation. “I’m sure they all intended it because of what my mates and I were planning…” He trailed off, as if realizing he was in a tangent again. “Er, s…sorry.”

 

 

“D’you ever say anything that doesn’t turn into a downer by the end?” Jazz asked in a mixture of amusement and irritation.  
Sideswipe glanced from master to slave, then said mildly, “Yeah, we go back a while. Quit counting how many times we’d saved each other long before the war ended.”

 

“Dunno... it’s kinda hard not to be when Autobots and Decepitcons alike hate ya... and you’re seen as enemy to both sides, marked as a traitor and Autobot-sympathizer and your mates were likely killed to isolate you so you could be better controlled... Even toward the end, when Starscream found me and dragged me back into the ‘Con fold, I was watched very closely by Soundwave and the others... they made damn sure I never met up with the Autobots, every time I DID manage ta sneak away, they sent someone after and gave me a beating for runnin’ off... So all Cybertronians are and were my enemy... couldn’t trust no one. Still can’t.” The petite Seeker said, casually, he gave a wing-shrug. “’swhy I set the Predation to self-destruct with an added measure of a collision course to the nearest, biggest asteroid.”

 

“Other than that, I spent the majority of the war either raisin’ my first crop of kids, or on Ardenia and therabouts fightin’ off the expansion of the Scorpionan Empire. Attacking their slave-and-other-goods vessels to free the unfortunates, give ‘em some of the resources found on the ships, and taking the rest as my cut. Not that you believe me.”

 

 

“You still don’t get it, do ya?” Jazz gave Sideswipe an apologetic glance before putting his attention back on Devision. “It doesn’ matter whether or not I believe you. It don’t matter what any of us believes. What coulda happened doesn’t matter. Past’s in the past. The best we can do is try to get along in the present.”

 

 

Silence followed, then Sideswipe finally said, “I wouldn’t have thought I’d ever hear you talk like that. Gears, sure, but not you.”  
“Things have changed, buddy,” Jazz told him curtly. 

 

 

“Yeah. We’re all older, and most of us are scattered to Pit knows where.” Sideswipe spoke to Jazz without concern for Devision’s presence to hear one Autobot criticize another to his face. “Sunny and I haven’t killed anyone in two hundred vorns. We haven’t been on fuel rations since long before that. The biggest crisis we’ve had this week is my brother’s reaction to a pinstriper pump going out while he was working on a graduated comb pattern on a client’s back. That’s all different.” His voice strengthened. “But there’s stuff that doesn’t change–not without a damned powerful reason.”

 

 

“I guess I don’t. Why do you say it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not? Sure, I know it’s not going to change society, or the laws… but it would matter to me, Jazz. Does that not count for something? If you and the twins were to believe I was an innocent, and that what I tell you is true and treat me as a person, that would mean the world to me. Not that it is going to happen. You say you’re different than the newbie Autobots, and sure, you have proven to be more lenient and tolerant than the others I have had for Masters… Yet you’re still a Master, and therefore an Oppressor, and you confuse me to no end. You don’t exactly act like there’s wrongs being done in enslaving ‘Cons. You still come off as if you condone the atrocities happening around you. Like it’s okay to mess with someone’s mind against their will or mark them as property. That is where I have the most issue with with you, Jazz.Seekers are supposed to be masters of themselves and the Sky… and know no other master. At least not to this extent. Sure, give loyalty to the royalty, and others of authoritative positions, but those positions must be backed up with proof of being deserved and earned and we are not to be owned by anyone. No one is meant to be slaves. And, honestly, at least I’m not a totally insufferable royal snob like my great grand-sires.” Devision replied casually enough, trying to keep even-toned about things. 

 

Keeping watch on Jazz, as he muttered more, “Still, the past does matter… it influences who we are and it’s echoes carry to the now. Shaping the future, even as we speak. You know, I really think I woulda liked you a lot better if we had met during the war. You were probably a lot more fun then, Jazz.” Devision replied softly. He was wary of Jazz, but curious and invested in the conversation.

 

“What doesn’t change?” He looked at Sideswipe in complete curiosity. “What am I missing here? Educate me please… I wanna know. You guys are probably older than me anyway… so you have knowledge and greater experience than I have.”  
“Who a bot is in the dark doesn’t change,” Sideswipe answered quietly. “What hurts most, who he wants with him–”

 

“I get it,” Jazz cut him off harshly. “Like I said, nothing anyone can do about it, so no point livin’ in the past. You gotta live where you are now, and deal with things as they are now.” He got up. “I’ll be back to pick him up after the shift-change traffic’s done clogging up the pipes.” Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out, leaving Devision in Sideswipe’s charge without concern.

 

“What?” Devision blinked his optics, cycling them darker and narrower, confused and feeling abandoned. Jazz doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care. The petite Seeker whimpered. Why did Jazz have to be so mean?

 

Sideswipe sighed and spoke as much or more to himself than to the little Seeker. “Like I said–the guy in the dark doesn’t change.” He got up and moved to put a hand to Devision’s back. “Come on, I’ll get you started.”

 

“Okay.” The shy Seeker followed as directed, looking around in curiosity. “Why is Jazz so... I don’t know... He won’t say anything... He won’t confirm anything really. Nothing specific and I cannot read him most of the times... it’s... it’s really frustrating!”  
“He’s Jazz,” Sideswipe answered. “Don’t push him about justice and slavery, he’ll push back. Hard.”

 

“That... really doesn’t help much. How am I to understand him if he won’t talk about anything important? Or... do I just say nothin’ and not.... it’s like he doesn’t wanna know anything about me or care about the past... mine or whatever... like I’m loads curious about him but I don’t know enough about him to know what questions to ask and I tried to ask in general and that got me nowhere... so how do I...?” Devision asked frustrated. 

 

 

“Jazz won’t tell you anything important until he’s sure you won’t blow his cover,” Sideswipe answered. “He was Special Ops too long, I guess, or maybe that’s just who he would have been anyway. I hadn’t seen him in a long time before you two showed up at the shop.” He stopped, and stopped Devision with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Listen–don’t push Jazz on the slavery thing. His best friend–they bunked together even though they were both rich enough to buy a couple floors to live in–trying to convince people there was a way to live with ‘Cons without turning all of ‘em into personal property got Jazz and Ricochet arrested. I don’t know what happened between the night they were arrested and the day another of our buddies woke up and found Jazz on the floor in his living room. What I do know is that Ricochet hasn’t been heard from since then, and Jazz doesn’t like to talk about any of it. He bought a couple slaves and kept ‘em for a while, trying to protect them as much as a bot can, but…” He shrugged his helplessness. “He’s probably having a hard time sharing quarters with someone again. So take it easy on him, will you?”  
“Oh?” The petite Seeker’s curiosity peaked, “I... I’ll try not to... but I... I just seem to be saying all the wrong things or in the wrong way.” Devision whimpered a bit, he was just failing at almost everything today. 

 

“Then don’t say so much,” Sideswipe told him. He put his hand to Devision’s back again, guiding him through a plain door into what was clearly a lower-class part of the studio. “Hey guys and girls–this is Devision, he’s carrying and he belongs to an old friend who’s having a bad time, so take care of the little guy, okay?” 

 

The other occupants of the room straightened up and looked to the newcomer. All of them were painted in tasteful shades and patterns in which red, yellow, and black dominated–Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s colors. No two of them were exactly alike, but all of them had chrome accents just beneath their optics matched by mirror-smooth accents on their wings…for all of them were Seekers. 

 

They wore slave collars, of course. No Decepticon could be left uncollared unless the room had no outside access and an Autobot was present to supervise. These Seekers, however, wore collars that had obviously been designed to blend into the lines of their bodies and paint schemes. Some of them wore what had to be cuffs, but they looked more like decorative gauntlets, the metal openwork mounted on tiny standoffs so that it cast interesting shadows on the free-moving arm beneath. 

 

They weren’t intimidated by Sideswipe’s presence, either. A study female wearing vinework inlays all across her wings and up her sides to her throat slid off a drafter’s stool and strode over to look down at Devision. “What happened to you? That primer’s awful–how long have you been walking around like that?”

 

“Yeah… maybe that would be for the best.” Devision said softly, solemnly.

 

“Been neglected for quite some time. I… I don’t know…a few days? At least two… maybe three?” 

 

“Jazz is cleaning him up and getting him looking respectable, so they can go where they gotta go and do what they gotta do,” Sideswipe explained. “The design’s all set. First, though, we gotta get rid of this cheap-aft primer.”

 

“Yeah, you do.” The female looked Devision up and down.

 

Sideswipe chuckled. “I’ll leave you guys to work it out. Don’t skimp on the touch-up.” He waved a little and breezed out to tend to his other customers.

 

“Bad masters previously… really bad ones.” Devision replied. “So who does what?”

 

“You need the grit room,” the female said. “I’ll show you. I’m Nacelle, by the way. I do some drawing and color-harmonizing for the boss and help with the accounting. That’s Chord over there” she pointed to a bot with a set of magnifying lenses clipped to his forehead crest “and Nightsider and Nightflight are going to strip your primer.” These last were obviously brother and sister and not yet in their final adult frames. They were painted in complementary schemes of black highlighted with red and yellow and the chrome accents on faces and wings.

 

 

“Okay. Nice meeting all of you all... So uh, Nightsider and Nightflight are twins?” Devision asked, curiously. “Chord, Nacelle. So how did you guys get your names? I’ve been known by quite a few. Sparker, Sparky, Spunky, were among the worst. Sparklight Seekers called me Lil’ Spitfire, which is kinda funny ‘cause I have an Aunt named Spitfire.”

 

“Not twins,” Nightsider corrected with a shake of his head. “She’s younger than me. Our Sire just liked the names and our carrier thought it was cute.”

 

“It was cute, until you grew up and started using your sister to do your dirty work,” Nacelle told him. 

 

“At least he let me keep some of what I stole for him,” Nightflight put in. Her voice was low for a female, strong and musical. Despite her age she seemed more self-possessed, more mature than her brother.

 

“They’re learning the trade from the base metal out,” Nacelle explained. “Don’t let Nightsider tell you he doesn’t know how to run the particle stripper properly–he’s been taught how to mask joint seals. Nightflight will do your face.”

 

“Who’s your Sire?” Devision asked the Seekers called Nightsider and Nightflight, with curiosity. “And where did you all come from... I mean like, privately-bred, bred by the Twins, or by a big breeding facility such as Sparklight Seekers Breeding Co.?”

 

“I’m their sire,” Chord spoke up. “Their carrier is downstairs compounding.” 

 

“The business got too big, so the twins asked the staff if anyone wanted to carry and raise some little apprentices,” Nightsider said nonchalantly. “They got volunteers, and me and Miss Sis got the jobs. Then the business got bigger before we were big enough to help out, so the twins had to buy some extra hands anyway.”

 

“Oh... I see. Least it was voluntary. I have always been forced to carry. And always had my little ones stolen from me. I really don’t want to lose any more. It’s too spark-breaking. I don’t know how many more I can bear and lose that way...” Devision said softly. “I worry about the ones I carry right now and their brothers before them all the time. I know many have already died and really young too, for some of them. It’s hard to see them die young. So, overall, would you guys say you’re happy? I mean, as happy as you can be being slaves?”

 

“So, you guys are... none of you have been... altered much, have you? I... I’m sorry to ask... I know it’s an invasive and personal question... but... it’s just... I have seen some get certain parts removed...”

 

“Hey.” Nacelle grabbed Devision’s wrist and pulled him aside. “Nightflight, take your brother and get the particle sprayers ready.” She waited until the youngsters were out of earshot before letting go of Devision and addressing him in low tones. “We’re trying not to let them know exactly how bad it is out there until they’re into their adult frames and mature enough to cope with the truths no one likes to think about. The twins have fertility inhibitors installed in everyone–the kind you only notice when they’re switching from on to off or off to on–and you have to ask to have it turned off. Did your owner sire the ones you’re carrying now?”

 

“I… I’m sorry…It’s been awhile since I have had little ones past their weaning. I… I am really sorry. It’s been… I haven’t been doing so good lately. Two million years of enslavement has been a long haul and hundreds of kids, I lost count long time ago. Though I never forgot the names of any of them.” He hushed his tone uncomfortably feeling worse than before. Today had already had so much trouble… and he was just making it worse-again. Feeling like a failure, like the glitch he had so often been told he was.

 

“N…no…Jazz hasn’t. We haven’t. I… I was raped by four unknown Autobots when chained and left in a cage, exposed… as a… an insult gift…” Devision whimpered, looking at the floor as if it were more interesting than it really was. “I… I’m sorry.” The shame and sorrow in the petite Seeker was evident and he was deeply embarrassed.

 

“You were what?” Nacelle looked and sounded horrified. “Someone used you as an insult-gift?” Rape and relentless breeding were all too common in the experiences of Decepticons. Being bought and left as an insult-gift was something else again.

 

 

“Yeah...” the small Seeker replied, shy and nervous. “He also punched holes in my wing-tips and threaded barbed wire through them, leaving me blind-folded and with audio-dampener on... so I don’t know the faces of the ones that had me... only their scents. One used me thrice. An’ he was the biggest.”

 

Nacelle stood still for a moment, taking that in. Then she considered her options, visibly wavering. Finally she asked, “Does your boss know about all that? Is he doing anything about it?”

 

 

“Yeah... he knows... says he’s tracking down the guy that left me for him... and the others too..”  
Nacelle relaxed, relieved. “Good. That’s good. And he’s taking care of you–that’s medical-grade primer, slopped on by an orderly in a hurry. So he got you looked at, right?”

 

“Yeah… I spent two days at the clinic. Needed a lotta work done.” Devision said softly. “Jazz works in law-enforcement or something… so yeah… he’ll get those guys that hurt me. An’ he says he’ll take care of me right.”

 

“Well–if the Bosses like him, he’s got to be someone good.” Nacelle reassumed her role with a twitch of her wings. “The kids should have the sprayers ready now. Let’s go get you started.”

 

“Yer bosses are old buddies with him.... and he’s been mostly kind. So yeah. Okay...”

 

“Ours take pretty good care of us,” Nacelle confirmed. “As long as you didn’t fight in the war they don’t have a problem with you.”

 

“I... I was a war veteran. It didn’t take us long to figure out that what Starscream and Megatron stood for was wrong and that we had joined the wrong side.... but my mates and I were stationed on the Predation. Under Acid Rain’s command.”

 

 

Nacelle digested that for a moment. “I haven’t heard of that ship.” She avoided asking for details.

 

“It didn’t last long... I saw to that. But it’s reputation-at least among the Decepticons was as the most ruthless, even worse than being stationed on the Nemesis.”

 

 

“It sounds awful,” Nacelle said politely. She was too young to really picture it, and didn’t want to know. She pushed open a swinging door. “Here’s the grit room. Enjoy getting rid of that crust.”

 

 

“It was. Anyway, yeah...” Devision went into the other room, and kept quiet. To keep up a better mood, he thought of Earth animals, imagining paintings of the flora and fauna of that organic world.

 

Despite their youth, Nightsider and Nightflight knew their business, and efficiently stripped, bathed, and re-primed Devision without once crossing their tool hoses or spraying grit into any of the places it wasn’t supposed to go. They surrendered Devision for inspection by Nacelle, who took her time and made the youngsters fidget before pronouncing their work acceptable at Sunstreaker’s standards and shooing them off the clean the grit room for the next customer. Nacelle led Devision to a small, comfortably worn waiting room appointed with a selection of videos and some reading material…and chain anchor rings set in the walls and floor, in a silent confirmation that this was a room for slaves.

 

 

Devision looked around and sighed. Definitely not the most comforting room, since it was meant for slaves. But the others had been decent to him and thus he really saw no need to make a comment. As yet.


	6. Vision of Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How I miss this as a roleplay. I might at least have to ask questions regarding this one from my rp partner for a continuation, if not via rp, then my writing it out... solo. But with a bit of understanding where/how she would have done things.

Devision was alone for an hour before the door opened and Sideswipe looked in. “Hey–you okay in here? I promise we haven’t forgotten you’re here. My brother’s got what we call a difficult client in his paint booth and it looks like this is going to be one of their longer sessions, so I’m going to get started on your base coats.”

 

“Okay. I’m fine, I guess.” Devision said, “Just been thinkin’ of a lotta things... so... what was that all about... about people being the same in the dark... and all? What’s gotten Jazz to be such a sourpuss? Does he want to wallow in misery, I know from experience it is tempting and all... but... I try to fight it... he doesn’t seem to want to... and I could and would try an’ help him through his troubles if he would only do the same for me... but it’s hopeless! I can’t get through to him. He just doesn’t care. He’s mean and scary, besides.”

 

Sideswipe waved Devision to his feet and led him through the studio to a sizable room before answering. “Jazz wasn’t–he wasn’t always the way he is. I mean, he’s always kept secrets, even from his friends, but the ones he’s keeping now he’s keeping for the wrong reasons.” 

 

He put a small can of “refresher” energon into Devision’s hands, then went about the tasks of preparing sprayer reservoirs and pressure cylinders for use. “We’d all help him if we could, but he doesn’t want to talk about Ricochet, or what happened after they were arrested, or anything else about the movement. You try to force him, he gets pissed off. Used to be you couldn’t make Jazz mad with anything short of an acid round to the face. It’s way too easy these days.”

 

“So... how do I earn his trust, and favor?” Devision asked before sipping on the Energon, grateful for it, not realizing how hungry he had actually been at this time, having been too stressed from everything. “Yeah... seems like he’s Mr. Touchy. Does he just not want to face the truth? Or the issues? Or d’ya think it’s more like he blames himself? Because I, I can relate to blamin’ oneself. I mean, I was one of the reasons Downdraft and Descent were killed. I’m sure of it.”

 

 

Sideswipe looked up at Devision, then answered, “You’re gonna have to trust Jazz first–even when he tries to make you stop. Ricochet trusted him, and something really bad happened to Ricochet–I don’t know what, Jazz won’t talk about it.”

 

Sideswipe stopped his work and leaned both hands on a counter for a moment, making up his mind. He turned around and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms as he began, “If I still thought Jazz would work everything out for himself I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. The way he’s acting is giving me some really bad vibes, so I’m going to tell you some things almost no one but a few of us war Autobots and some file servers in government buildings know about. I’m trusting you to keep your mouth shut, not just for him but for me and all the bots who work for me. If Sunny and me get arrested or executed, all of them will get split up and sold Primus knows where.” His jaw worked. “Are you in?”

 

“I would do anything necessary for my people... Seekers, I mean, and other ‘Con-types, but the definition of ‘my people’ is beginning to expand to include you and your twin and Jazz, too. I like you guys.” Devision “So, yes. I’m in.” Devision fixed Sideswipe with a determined look. 

 

Sideswipe accepted that and nodded as one soldier to another. “Okay. Turn toward me and hold your arms out, I’ll work while I talk.” He tested the largest paint sprayer’s nozzle, then started by spraying an expertly-even coat of white paint down the left side of Devision’s chest. “You may not have heard of it, but there was a resistance group called the Spelunkers, back before things started getting really bad for Decepticons. It was just a bunch of Autobots who thought it made sense to give Kaon, Tarn, and Vos to the ‘Cons who didn’t fight in the war, and let them build or kill each other however they liked. A lot of bots thought it was just a cheap way to get rid of the ‘Sparked bad’ Decepticons–let them all kill each other, then move in and teach the rest how to be civilized.” He snorted a little. “I’m not the top of the brains chart, but even I could see how many ways that was screwed up. Anyway, the Spelunkers did a lot of arguing and marching and stuff, trying to convince everyone to at least give the ‘Cons who’d never fired a shot at an Autobot a chance to prove they weren’t gonna start killing as soon as no one was looking. Didn’t work, and the laws just got tighter and tighter.” He watched the paint as he talked, shielding biolights with his fingers rather than taking the time to tape them off. Not a drop of paint touched a place Sideswipe didn’t want it.

 

 

 

“People dropped off and quit trying–we lost a few more every time another law we’d been against went through. After a while we were down to a few hundred diehards–bots who kept trying even after Decepticons started showing up wearing price tags. That was when Ricochet and Jazz really started leading things. They knew how to get attention, where to be to get people stirred up and what to do to make them think. Some of the others were better at deciding what to say and who to say it to, but Ricochet and Jazz–” He let the sprayer stop and shook his head. “They were good. You’d have to look really hard to find any evidence of what they did back then–the History Ministry’s pretty good at taking out anything they don’t want anyone to know about–but trust me, if they’d been able to keep the pressure on the slave laws would have broken down and the ‘Cons would’ve had Kaon to themselves within a couple dozen vorns.”

 

“Oh. I see. I was trying to get Vos back legally and peacefully myself. And be an example to my fellow ‘Cons as to peaceful relations with Autobots. I tried to show them non-violence and to use words, and writing, and peaceful demonstration as ways to improve things for us. While trying to teach the younger ones Vosnian and restore the better elements of Vosnian society. I tried to be a good leader for my Seekers, as it felt like my duty, because-as far as I know, I’m the last Seeker with ties to Vosnian royalty. Most would have died in the Fall of Vos, or in the war itself. Though I am sure my kin still live and have made a home for themselves somewhere in space, but where they are, I don’t know. It’s probably best I don’t know. That way the knowledge could not put those innocents in slavery and chains too. They were all the Seekers that left because they were lower-Caste and miserable, or were non-fighters to begin with. Artists, dancers, singers, servants, medics, architects, and similar. “ Devision replied, while co-operating with Sideswipe as was needed of him.

 

“Yeah–don’t I know it.” Sideswipe moved down Devision’s leg. “That was one of Ricochet’s favorite tactics–broadcast a performance of some play or music or something, let everyone talk about how great it was–then release the name of the ‘Con who wrote it or sang it. Made a lot of bots mad, but Jazz could break into any transmitter station or server room he could get coordinates for, and hack a signal so neatly you wouldn’t even notice the change. Maybe that’s what got them caught–they knew they were good. Too good.”

 

 

“I wish the Autobots responsible for all the nasty laws and makin’ ‘Cons slaves woulda just exiled us intsead... why slavery? It’s just evil. Least there are those like you an’ yer twin who take care of the slaves ya have.” Devision replied,“I bet politician Swift had something to do with it. He’s a nasty, that one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote a lot of the laws himself.” 

 

“He’s one of the ones on the list,” Sideswipe muttered. “Not the only one, though, and not the worst. You wanna know what made Jazz quit the movement?”

 

“Swift... isn’t... the worst?” Devision seemed shocked by that. “He was a nightmare towards me when he had me. But yes, anything about Jazz would help me understand him!”

 

 

“Swift’s small-scale,” Sideswipe answered. “He’s not the one running things at the higher levels. It was those guys Ricochet and Jazz went after–and those guys who came down on them, hard. Ricochet started exposing some things the big shots didn’t want exposed.” Sideswipe tapped gently on Devision’s calf to get him to move his leg to provide a better angle for spraying. “He underestimated how many bots those guys could put on the streets to find him. They tracked him down, and arrested him, Jazz, and everyone else in earshot.”

 

“Oh. I see. Would I have liked Ricochet? ‘Cause I really think I would have. Maybe I woulda liked him more than Jazz, even.” Devision said, while shifting, to allow Sideswipe the angle he needed on him. 

 

“You might’ve liked both of ‘em,” Sideswipe answered. “Richochet had justice and truth on the brain. The kind of guy who will keep telling the truth until the last electron of his Spark winks out. He was the one with the vision, the bot who could really see what it was going to be like if he gave up. Jazz–well, you’ve seen and heard him. I don’t know exactly what happened after he and Ricochet were arrested. There must have been psychic-patch and mnemosurgery stuff, because too many other bots in the Spelunkers got picked up and executed to be lucky guesses. Jazz had some pretty bad neural damage when he turned up again, too.”

 

 

“Oh no! Really? But then why would he threaten to use mnemosurgery on me? If he has had personal experience with it. Doesn’t add up. Psychic-patches too? Ick! Poor Jazz. So what would impress him? Since nothing else seems to have?”

 

 

“Don’t try to impress him, he’s too busy grinding his bearings to notice,” Sideswipe answered. “Better thing to do is to stick close by him but keep your mouth shut. Maybe not sitting on him, but in the same room. Believe me, he knows you’re there and nothing you could say will do a better job of changing his mind than what he’s sayin’ to himself. If he tells you to go away, do it and don’t argue–if you fight with him it only makes the wrong side stronger. That’s coming from my experience.” He steadied Devision’s right wing with one hand and sprayed it with the other. “An insult-gift–I wonder if someone was trying to push him out of the rut.”

 

“I dunno. Or push him to do something that he could get him for, maybe?” Devision held still but whimpered instead of shuddering, “The guy that bought me was a nasty piece of work. He rarely said much to me, and when he did, he used a voice-changer so I could never know his actual voice. And he had no issues with piercing my wingtips and then threading barbed chain through the wounds… like slag that hurts… the only way wings can hurt worse is if they’re being ripped off!”

 

“Course it does,” Sideswipe agreed absently. “Seeker’s wings are mostly nerves with a couple support ribs and control cables inside, everyone knows that. I’ve seen what some bots do–barbed chain’s up there with edge chain on the ‘you need serious processor work’ scale.” He was working in smooth strokes of paint along the length of Devision’s wings.

 

“Y... you’ve seen that? H...how could the poor Seeker even fly then? H...how can they do that to someone’s wings?! It’s just vile and evil...” The Seeker whimpered, softly, clearly upset. “Um... wh..what’s edge chain? I don’t think I have seen that. Why is that done? Do they think it fashionable to do that to a Seeker’s wings? Or is that more some sort of sick power-play as to saying to the world “look what I can do to a Seeker’s wings?”

 

“Both,” Sideswipe answered grimly. “Edge chain was the ‘in’ thing to do to your Seekers a couple centuries ago. Cut off part of the wing edge–an inch on the control flaps or a foot all the way around, depended on how much you liked torture–then mount motorcycle chain or tank tracks around the edges. Ruined the poor bot’s flight profile, of course, and put all kinds of strain on his wing mounts, but didn’t you look the bad@ss to all your friends.” Sideswipe’s voice took on a very cold, bitter edge. “Some of our staff had that, when we first bought ‘em. Took a long time with the medics to get everything cleaned up and unkinked and stuff. That’s when Sunny started putting paint films on our ‘Cons. Covered up the medical seams and set up a counter-trend for smooth wingtips. Of course now the style’s to add more wings and make your Seeker look like a butterfly with a gland problem, but at least the extras aren’t pulling the frame out or grinding on nerve wiring.”

 

 

“Ouch! None of that sounds at all pleasant. And I cannot imagine added wings look good either. They wouldn’t be able to fly, would they?” Devision replied, “Why do they have to mess with our look? We’re perfectly nice the way we are! Why do they have to modify us at all? That edge chain thing must have come shortly after that thankfully short-lived attempt to de-wing many of us Seekers as a means to cut-out the need to fly, right?”

 

“Can’t believe they would think that that would be acceptable.. besides, aren’t we prettier with our wings? That was one of the worst, most spark-breaking things I witnessed inflicted on some of my Seekers, and some of my babies. They thought that de-winging them as newborns would help them adjust to not have a need for flight, that growing up without wings would somehow kill the sky-hunger. I guess the thinking was that if they never remembered having wings, or flying, then they would never miss them. But those little ones grew up neurotic and had to be ‘put down’ not long after. It was worse, I think for those of us grown-up and de-winged though. I saw several of the Seekers I knew from before we were slaves, put through that. They never lasted long either.” 

 

 

“Ouch... my poor Seekers that went through that... the grinding on the nerve wiring must have been excruciating!”

 

“From what they’ve told us it was. Sunny’s gotten pretty good at coming up with something to set as a countertrend, when he can get enough of the others in the business to agree it’s cool. Lean on the frame here.” He pushed a sturdy piece of bent tubing into Devision’s reach, then guided him to lean most of his upper body weight on it while Sideswipe worked the paint sprayer over another section of wing surface. “It’s not really enough, but it’s better if bots are thinking about adding stuff to Seekers instead of cutting stuff off.” 

 

 

“Well, that’s good that your brother tries to steer things into a better trend.” Devision spoke as he cooperated and did as he was told, leaning on the offered tubing. “No. It’s not enough, but it helps, some. And I doubt it will ever be enough. But better to add temporary and non-surgical bits to us then to surgically alter our frames for stupid fashion. ‘Specially since we cannot be free to decide for ourselves. Wish we could just be set free already. Or exiled. If only I had Velle... then I would try and take them-as many as I could-and save them from this fate. But Velle, she’s lost to me now.” The small Seeker said with a sigh, he wished he had not sent his ship away, but he could not risk losing the goods on her, and her blueprints and the limited supply of the rare metal she was made of that was stored in her cargo bays. Not to Autobot Oppressors. 

 

 

He sighed, “Not that that’s ever gonna happen... least probably not in my lifetime. So, um, sorry to have gotten off-track, but I wanna know what more you can tell me about Jazz and Ricochet?”

 

 

“They pushed their luck that one micron too far,” Sideswipe answered. “The enforcers got ‘em, and for all we knew they were both dead. No trial, no announcements, they even disappeared from the network registries. Like they’d never even been Sparked, you know?”

 

 

“Wait, h...how does that happen... disappearing from network registries? That cannot be easy... don’t we give off signatures that can be read by the right sort of machine? Like how either side could tell where a ‘Con or Autobot was during the war? That sounds really scary, what is this, a communist society? Or is Cybertron a republic, or a democracy? Or something else?” 

 

 

“Something else,” Sideswipe answered without a trace of humor. “We picked up Spark signatures during the war–that was easy because there weren’t too many Sparks around back then. These days if you’re dumb enough to try a Spark energy scan you’ll burn your relays with the signal density. It’s network registration that counts now, unless you’re someone else’s property. 

 

 

Everything’s filed somewhere–not just your name and profession, it’s everything. Where you live, who your friends are, vehicle mode specs, medical records, political stuff, how much you spend on frame grease, tire tread preferences, and probably what you put in your energon last night. Most of the time no one looks at it because no one with the torque to get into those files cares enough to look–there are millions of bots in every sector, if not a few billion, I don’t keep count. But once someone’s interested in you, it’s really hard to hide. On the other hand, if someone pulls the right throw rods it’s really easy to make you disappear.”

 

 

“I doubt bots had to worry about that during the Golden Age. So basically everything is known about everyone, at least everyone that’s free. Slaves, though, how much is actually known about us? Who really cares about a slave, after-all? Unless it’s just the skills or uses we’ve been put to, right? Doesn’t seem like a proper society at all.”

 

 

“So... how do I understand Jazz? I don’t know how to read him at all! I… I wanna help him. I wish we could help each other. But he’s not exactly open to that.”  
“From what people who were there tell me, the Golden Age wasn’t so golden as some might wish it was.” Sideswipe said darkly. 

 

“Ask Jazz about that, he heard it straight from the Prime. You wanna know how to read Jazz, you gotta hear the rest of the story. We all thought he was dead, and Rico too. Then we got a call. Another of our buddies had gotten up and there was Jazz on the floor. He wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t move, just stared. We couldn’t take him to the medics, we didn’t know whether he’d been let go or just escaped.”

 

“Oh... I, please forgive me for being a bit ignorant on Cybertronian history and culture, I only know what was true and valid for Seeker culture. I could write a whole book, probably several, on Ardenian History and Culture or that of Dakharr, or even Earth, to a degree, but when it comes to Cybertron, my knowledge is rather lacking. I didn’t know that the Golden Age was not so great. I thought it was only the tail-end that started to go down-hill...”

 

“Anyway, I didn’t want a Cybertronian history lesson. I am more interested in Jazz’s past and how that might relate to understanding him in the present. So please, tell me more...”

 

“We took turns,” Sideswipe explained. “We hid him and made sure he didn’t hurt himself. He’d flip out from time to time and start fighting and yelling. Didn’ matter who you were, or if you were someone at all–he attacked a custom wheel display rack we had downstairs once. He was special ops, too, so you took a pounding if you didn’t grab him and get him down fast. Far as I know he’s never told anyone what really happened or who did what to him, but from the stuff he screamed about someone used a psychic patch on him, maybe even did some mnemosurgery and messed around with his memory. He saw some pretty bad &$#@#%, real or not. There weren’t any marks of that kind of thing on him, not that we could find anyway, but it’s easy to replace a patch here and there–not like most of us keep track of where each other’s patches are.” He stopped short, though the sprayer continued to move in smooth strokes.

 

 

“H...how do you tell if such marks are on someone, even?” The Seeker whispered, shaken at the news. “So... he’s... he’s a really good fighter then. An’ given his size... verses mine, I wouldn’t stand a chance against him. I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against him at all. Not that I intend to fight him, but... I... I’m just thinking hypothetically...”

 

 

“Nope, you wouldn’t have a chance,” Sideswipe agreed calmly. “Best thing you could do is drop, go limp, and beg in one of the human languages. It pushes some buttons somewhere. It probably won’t happen, though. Jazz hasn’t killed anyone without meaning to since he started working again.”

 

 

“Nope, you wouldn’t have a chance,” Sideswipe agreed calmly. “Best thing you could do is drop, go limp, and beg in one of the human languages. It pushes some buttons somewhere. It probably won’t happen, though. Jazz hasn’t killed anyone without meaning to since he started working again.”

 

 

“Gee, that’s real reassuring.” Devision replied sarcastically, before he shifted tone, “Wait-so h...he...he has killed others without meaning to?” The petite Seeker whimpered at that. “I guess I really shouldn’t pester him so. Though it’s nice to know the tricks to try and evade trouble or escape it if things go bad.” 

 

 

“Like I said, he flipped out,” Sideswipe answered. “We tried to get him back to sort of normal too fast. Some bots who thought they were tough followed us and tried to set up a good alley fight. Me and Sunny could’ve taken care of it, if the idiots hadn’t decided to show off their knives. Jazz finished off four of ‘em before my brother and I got the rest running home to hide under their beds. We cleaned up the mess and got him home, then sat up with him all night. That’s when he gave us some names and some clues about where he’d been.”

 

“Yikes! I... I hope I never have to see something like that from him, unless he’s doin’ it for me.” Devision muttered softly.”I... I want to know more...”

 

“Like what those names were? Don’t worry about it, little guy. We already took care of all that.”

 

 

“Okay. If you say it is so. Then I believe it to be so. So what else can you tell me about him? Anything that would be safe grounds to talk to him about?”

 

 

Sideswipe had to think about that. While he did, he changed out the nozzle on his sprayer and went to work on the smaller parts of Devision’s body, including his head. He kept the paint out of the little Seeker’s optics with the deft confidence of long practice, still thinking. 

 

 

“He used to have this thing about old legends,” Sideswipe finally offered. “Like the really old ones, from way back before the Quintesson wars. You could ask him to tell you some. But like I said, with him you just have to see what kind of mood he’s in. He’s got some bad–maybe even say evil–people sitting in the chairs upstairs, and they’re just waiting for him to give ‘em an excuse to yank his registration again. You might be part of their latest try to force him into a wrong move. So take it easy on him, he’s got a lot on his mind.”

 

“Yank his registration? You mean, like before?” Looking up at Sideswipe, the Seeker was thinking. “Like with him an’ Ricochet? Anything else? History-of-Cybertron-wise, or of Earth or other things that’d be safe or safer to talk about?”

 

 

“Yup, yank his registration. They know what’ll happen if they do, though,” Sideswipe muttered.

 

“What? That he’d go berserk like an ancient Celtic warrior-the kind that were called Berserkers?” Devision gave a shy, uncertain smile at the joke, before sobering up... “If they were to go after him... what’d they do with me?”

 

“If they went after him there’d be another rash of mysterious deaths in high places,” Sideswipe stated, and there was no casual humor in his words. Just as his brother had slipped so easily into the mode of a trained, leashed killer, Sideswipe switched from paint-shop owner to calm death in sinister red and black armor. “There’s a lot of bots who’ve lost track of the past, or weren’t even around then. There’re plenty of us who remember, though, and most of those don’t want their towers rattled over one war bot they’ve got on a pretty tight chain already.”

 

“You mean, Jazz is on a leash, in a way, as well? And-y...you mean there are war-era bots who have forgotten the past, is that right? And war-era bots who never or barely participated in the war who cannot forget it, too.” Devision replied calmly chill, “I... I won’t let them get him. Or me. I wouldn’t want that happening to any of us. Your brother and you, or Jazz and myself. Or the staff you an’ your brother have. I may have been a pushover in my days in the war, but now, I think I have long since been cured of being a pacifist who would not kill. Slavery and abuse is to thank for that. First, aboard the Predation, now here on Cybertron. But I won’t be that weak if they cause us trouble. I’ll fight to kill, this time, if I have to.”

 

 

Sideswipe let go of Devision–he’d been coating a piece of the Seeker’s shoulder yoke–and looked him in the face. “Jazz is on a leash, yeah. After we got him back, we kept him under wraps for a while–more than a while. But bots in high places knew where to look for him. We couldn’t keep him hidden forever. So we set up a kind of trap. Bots in high places–bots whose names Jazz yelled when he flipped–started having accidents. Run off the road, carved up in places you’d think no one could get into, a couple detonations, that kind of thing.” He shrugged, slowly and without letting his optics budge from Devision’s. “Karma can be pretty petty sometimes, you know? Anyway, after a while we went to a job interview with Jazz. His brain was working mostly-right by then. He told the tower officers he could find the bots responsible for all the disruption. That’s how he got his job. Of course, there were some miscommunications at first.” He broke the gaze and turned his attention to his finger joints. “Seems he was supposed to bring the perps in for questioning. It was sorta too late by the time someone explained that. He turned in this pile of executed death warrants–he’d found a real big ring of scrap-draggers. Twenty-three of ‘em, all bots who’d somehow always been somewhere else when the cops showed up.” He flicked his gaze back to Devision. “Those bots in Social Auditing, or whatever they call it this week, caught on pretty quick. How about you, you catching on?”

 

“Jazz took ‘em out, huh?” Devision replied, impressed. “He’s really good at the fighting and finding out what’s going on, isn’t he? Was he a saboteur during the war?”

 

“Yeah, he was a saboteur,” Sideswipe answered. “But he didn’t take out all those junk heaps. He wasn’t in the shape for it, at first.”

 

“You an’ your brother? You guys and Jazz, together then?” Devision asked, hoping he was correct in that. “Saboteur, huh? I bet he wouldn’t have failed at sabotaging the Predation, like I did, that first time. Only succeeded the second time with luck and the help of a friend.” The Seeker had some obvious sense of an expressed implication of inadequacy for his lack of skills all-around during the war.

 

“Us, and some others,” Sideswipe answered. “And sabotage isn’t the kind of thing anyone gets right the first time.”  
“It’s not exactly something ya do without risk, if you’re learning, though. I paid quite a price for that failure. I got lucky the second time around and largely because I had help. Probably would not have succeeded without the help.” Devision sighed, “I don’t know... how do you learn it then?”

 

“You get a guy like Jazz to teach you,” Sideswipe answered. He got back to work, coating smaller parts of Devision’s body now while the first coat on his larger surfaces dried. “He’s pretty good at sleight-of-hand–not even the high-resolution scouts could catch him, most of the time.”

 

 

“Oh, sleight-of-hand, I’ve done a bit of that as a smuggler and pirate, and entertainer... though I am not sure if I count as that great at it. Traxxis was better at that sort of thing. But I am not sure how it applies in sabotage, I mean, how I could adapt it. Besides, I don’t think Jazz would teach me that anyway.”

 

“Not until he trusts you better,” Sideswipe agreed. “He might show you, though, if you ask him nicely.”

 

“Oh. Not likely then. I don’t think he’ll be likely to trust me. It’s not like I can just say, ‘Gee, Jazz, can you show me how sleight-of-hand applies to sabotage’... I... I would probably mess up with asking him that. Seems I don’t put things in the right phrasing, so I don’t think that would go over well.”

 

“Not until he trusts you better,” Sideswipe agreed. “He might show you, though, if you ask him nicely.”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s him,” Sideswipe reassured him. “He’s been strange since he got out of prison, and you’re changing how his tires wear. He’s thinking. Let him think–he’ll get bored and start talking eventually.” He nodded at Devision’s midsection. “That will help, too.”

 

“Oh. So just wait it out?” Devision mused, “So will the little ones.”

 

“Yup, wait him out. Lean back for me.” Sideswipe moved the support frame and adjusted it to brace Devision’s lower back and shoulders while Sideswipe worked on edges normally hidden by shadow and lamination plates. “If he’s getting depressed try distracting him with the Sparkling. Poleyn was carrying Tasset one of the times Jazz stayed with us, and I think he would’ve rubbed Poleyn’s paint off over that Sparkling if Poleyn let him.”

 

 

“Okay.” Devision worked along with Sideswipe, and then spoke up again. “So was Jazz good with the Sparkling? Was he the family type? Both Downdraft and Descent had been really good with our kids. It would be nice if Jazz would be too. Especially if he really does let me keep ‘em.”

 

 

“Not exactly family type,” Sideswipe answered. “It was more like he thought Tasset was some kind of hallucination, and she’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he slipped and forgot she was there. So he followed Poleyn around making sure there was still a Sparkling inside, then he followed Tasset around and picked her up every time Poleyn set her down. Did he say he’s going to let you keep yours?”

 

 

“Well, I... I’m only carrying two at the moment, unless... well, more are created, and... he said... I could -probably-I think. I am not sure his exact words on that. ‘’Course nothing’s guaranteed, but... I... I hope he would. I’ve lost so many to early deaths and being stolen from me... I... I don’t know how much more of it I can take... losing each one is spark-breaking, every-time. You would think it gets easier with time, and that you would not become so attached to the next one, but you still do. Though he also said that he’d find someone to raise ‘em up right. And not those that would put them through the same scrap as I was.” Devision paused for a moment, “So I am really not sure what to believe. I… I just don’t know. Even if he said he would keep them, I’m not sure I can trust his word yet on that.” The insecure, distrustful Seeker spoke softly almost hesitantly. 

 

“If it’s only two he might be serious about keeping ‘em,” Sideswipe said after several passes of the sprayer. “Two is okay–you can just say you like having a little flock as pets, and you little guys are status symbols these days. Yeah–that’s the kind of thing Jazz would do. He’d cover being decent to you saying that he was raising the kids to be kites, and wasn’t it nice of someone to give him a present ready-bred so he could make as many high-priced little Seekers as he wanted almost for free? He might say something like that to someone else, or even to you. Don’t believe it. If he keeps those kids it’s because he doesn’t want them getting beat up and &%#$@ed like pleasure droids all their lives. If he sells ‘em it’ll be to someone he trusts will treat ‘em right.”  
“Oh. Okay. I... I hope it doesn’t come to that. Or at least, if it does, that they go to someone I also approve of. But I doubt he’d take my opinion into account.” Devision muttered softly. “Sometimes, I really wish I hadn’t sent the Velle away.”

 

 

Sideswipe cocked his head at the little Seeker, and his expression turned old and grave. “Any ship that belonged to a ‘Con would be declared state property, you know that, don’t you? Even if you managed to get on board and make a run for it, you’d have hunters on your trail no matter how far you ran. You might stay loose for a few thousand years, but some bot would get a lucky break sooner or later.”

 

“They would maybe try to claim her physically, but they’d never be able to control her. She’s an AI. And she’s permanently linked to me. I don’t pretend to know how the downloaded syncing works, but the only way to separate us and end it is to destroy either me or her. And if I were killed, and she knew of it, there would be a rogue ship on the lose. She’s my big sister. She’ll look out for me. Also, the fact is, she’s the fastest ship I’ve ever known. She can create wormholes to jump to points she’s already been to. And if I had her, I would take her to Ardenia, where I would have the backing of the Ardenian Royal Household, and could contact friends among the rest of the Allied Thirteen, as well. So unless they wanted another war with an alien race, or thirteen of them, they would best think twice on that, ya know? The Ardenians do not take kindly to slavers, and slavery either. If they knew that their foreign-born prince was a mere slave, and that slavery was happening on Cybertron, they would likely declare war with Cybertron immediately..” 

 

 

Sideswipe listened with growing uneasiness, then controlled alarm. He shuttered his optics for a long moment, then asked, “If I told you I could get someone with pull to listen, but it’d cost you your life if you lied, would you tell the same story?”

 

 

“Yes. But I... I don’t really want to say this to anyone else. Not unless it would change things for us.... Um, why do you ask? What good would it do? It’s not going to end the enslavement of the Decepticons though. I... I didn’t even tell Jazz it was my ship. I told him it was Traxxis’s, which it was, before The Velle was completed and had her maiden flight. Then he gave her and all the information pertaining to her to me with his dying breath. “ Devision said anxiously. 

 

 

“Traxxis told me to download all the information and destroy the lab she was built in afterwards. His enemies wanted her, and all the information on her, you see. So I did just that. Downloaded everything on her data. Then destroyed the lab and made off with Velle. The Velle’s also holding the blueprints and all the downloaded information to all the technology used to build her, and more like her, should it be desired. Plus there’s a large quantity of the rare metal she’s made from stored on her-enough to build at least a dozen more like her. Maybe more. Though if that comes to happening, I must fulfill my promise to Traxxis, that I gift his kids or grand-kids a ship each, if I made more at any point. Velle is the prototype, you see.”

 

 

“Are you, you don’t think I would turn on you and your brother, or Jazz, right? I wouldn’t. I hope you know that. But I would not have a problem encouraging the Thirteen to go to war for me in the hopes that the ‘Cons could be freed.”

 

 

“That’d be fair,” Sideswipe answered steadily, “as long as the aliens went after the bots who’re really running things. Problem with most wars is that most of the bots who end up dead aren’t the ones who started the fight and don’t have any idea what’s really going on. Me, I’d rather my boss said, ‘Here’s the names of the bots who need to be dead. Go find ‘em and take ‘em out.’ At least that’s honest.”

 

 

“Your... boss? Whom do you mean?” Devision asked softly. “I think that that could be done too. I mean, there are spies among the Ardenians and Dakharrians and the other Allied Thirteen.”

 

“Another old war buddy,” Sideswipe answered. “Believe me, you lie to him and he’ll make a cautionary tale out of you.”

 

 

“He could make an example of you without hurting the kid, trust me,” Sideswipe answered. “Just don’t lie to him and you’ll be fine. 

 

 

He’s got a high tolerance for weird, as long as it’s weird facts and not weird lies.”

 

 

“Like...how? Do I even wanna know? Then again, what would be the point, ‘cause Jazz would have to approve this anyway. So unless he could be convinced of doing this, isn’t it just a moot point?” The petite Seeker muttered softly, “I really should not be worried, because what I say is truth. It’s just... I still doubt that most Autobots, even the old crowd of war-veteran ones, can be trusted. I mean, I am pretty sure I can trust you and your brother an’ Jazz, so it probably should by extension mean I could trust those you guys trust, it’s just... I’m not always sure that... that it’s real. This could all just be a false facade. A reason to trick me into something-weather it be something I say or something I do-that would get me into serious punishment. As I see it, I have every reason not to trust even seemingly good Autobots, and no reason at all to believe in my own safety. As for my own autonomy, I haven’t had that in two million years and probably will never have that again. I... I’m sorry. I just...only certainty is uncertainty...” The small Seeker looked at the floor, he was holding still, but if it were not for the paint work, he would be shaking in fear and have his wings pinned impossibly tight to his frame.

 

 

“It’s us war veterans who remember how it really was,” Sideswipe said. “We remember how the Prime really was.” He turned the sprayer off. “OK–you’re ready for the master of design and attitude.”

 

 

“Yeah… we do.” Devision replied, “We know he never would of approved of the way society is now. He would not like the degeneration of things nowadays.” Devision sighed heavily. Then he giggled at the mention of Sunstreaker’s attitude. “Yeah, ready for that now, indeed!” He chirped happily. 

 

 

Sunstreaker swept in as though expecting a musical tribute. He inspected his brother’s work with scowling intensity, then started mixing the spectrum and highlight colors while Sideswipe laid out the fine-line pens and inlay blades.

 

 

“Hello again!” The small Seeker chirped to the Autobot with the attitude. Cheery disposition coming through. Almost completely forgetting the other events of the day.

 

“It’s good to see you free of that grit-loaded primer,” Sunstreaker greeted. “Now all you need is some color.” He loaded a color bottle into the sprayer and brandished the tool as though looking for intruders bearing substandard primer.

 

 

“Yeah! I tried not to notice, or care before. Especially since I was in worse shape before then. But I feel better already!” Devision cheerily piped up. 

 

 

“Good,” Sunstreaker said in approval. “I prefer to work on people who understand the real value of aesthetic mastery.” He picked up Devision’s left arm without asking and started spraying it in light layers of fine violet droplets.

 

“Cool! I like looking good and I appreciate the quality in mastery of artistry. Regardless of the art form.” Devision replied.

 

With the niceties observed, Sunstreaker got to work, contentedly moving Devision’s body this way and that to place the blending colors exactly where and how he wanted them. It all went quite pleasantly until Sunstreaker lifted Devision into a support frame and laid him on his back. “Just those inlays Jazz wanted left–hold still and you’ll barely feel it.”

 

 

 

“Wha…wait… n…no… I… that’s n…not right…” The Seeker squirmed and whimpered. fussing and fighting it a bit.

 

“Yes it is. Jazz wants you marked–anyone who tries to make use of you without his permission is going to be looking straight at a warning of who will come after him and what’s likely to happen when he gets caught,” Sunstreaker told him casually. 

 

 

He laced a strap across Devision’s waist and wound its ends in and out of the frame, then around Devision’s thighs just above his knees. The frame held the little slave’s legs open and conveniently positioned for Sunstreaker’s work.

 

 

“So it’s for my protection then? Or just to mark me as owned-in yet another way more personally insulting than a collar and chains?” The Seeker whimpered, squirming miserably. “I... I don’t want it!”

 

 

“Too bad,” Sunstreaker said with a shrug. “Jazz does–and he’s protecting you the only way anyone can protect a Decepticon these days–by claiming property rights. The kind of mech who’d just grab the first Seeker who came to hand isn’t the kind who’d care what you said or did, but he’d think at least twice once he saw this.” He held up the drawing, which was expanded to three times life size. At first glance it looked like the ordinary Autobot brand, enhanced a little with polished chrome and set inside a gleaming steel circle. Upon closer inspection, however, this mark began to stand out in multiple small ways. There were small differences in color, showing patches and the unevenness of plating pounded back into shape with a hammer on a battlefield. The seams of the grimacing face weren’t perfectly spaced and aligned, and there were chips and grinding marks all around the outer edge of the circle. It was a sharpened weapon, safe on the inside but dangerous to the outside. It was the mark of those who’d fought and survived and won a war, and it clearly said that it was ready to fight again.

 

 

“Why? Why does he want the markings on me?” Devision whimpered, quite miserably. Though he looked at the design more directly this time than the time when he’d been shown it in front of Jazz. “Does he want it more to mark me as his or more to protect me by claiming me as his?”

 

“I just told you he’s protecting you,” Sunstreaker said in exasperation. “He’s not someone who needs to own someone.”

 

“I... it doesn’t seem that way. He seems to like treating me like a thing. I think he’s enjoying the ownership of me.” The little Seeker muttered bitterly.

 

Sunstreaker worked in silence for a minute or two. Finally he said, “I’m not the right mech to ask about someone else’s feelings. My brother’s are all the nuisance I want. But I’ve known Jazz a long time, and if he’s doing something weird, he’s got a reason.”

 

 

Devision whimpered and squirmed, as much as he could, still unhappy. The miserable Seeker hated every moment of this... it did not feel good at all. Distressed and fussing and unwittingly making Sunstreaker’s job more difficult.

 

 

Sunstreaker grabbed and held Devision firmly for a while, but finally got frustrated enough to straighten up, put a hand on Devision’s chest, and growl, “Do I have to get the paralysis rack or can you stop fluttering and whining for five minutes?”

 

“I don’t want this... I don’t want to be a slave. I wanna be free...” The Seeker whined. “Why can’t I be free? Why can’t we all be free?” Devision whimpered softly, miserable as he squirmed. Reluctant to cooperate in this.

 

 

“Because the Prime is dead and no one but us even cares anymore,” Sunstreaker snapped. “Hold still.”

 

“No. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be marked as owned. I wanna be free. I don’t like this one bit. I am meant to be free. This is so wrong... you know this is wrong.” Devision whimpered softly, squirming miserably. 

 

“I know,” Sunstreaker snarled. “We’re working on it, but it’s not time yet, so hold the slagging frack still.”

 

Devision whimpered, part of him wanted to comply to cooperate with the twins, but he just couldn’t accept this. Not this time. Squirming, Devision said softly as he replied. “Sorry, but I cannot... I just... I cannot...” whimpering sadly.

 

 

Sunstreaker’s growl would have suited a bad-tempered scrap shredder. He reached for something beyond Devision’s line of sight, then jammed it into one of a soft wing-mount seal. The shot took effect in seconds. The drug pulled Devision away from his body and into a dim, muffled world of partial sensation and skewed, wandering impressions rather than thoughts.

 

With his reluctant canvas now quiet and still, Sunstreaker went back to work on the detailing that was his other calling.  
Devision whimpered softly, as the pain of the shot entered him and then he was unable to be in control of himself. 

 

He was someplace strange. The strangeness permeated it, soaked through him, made the place seem real despite its featureless-ness. He knew without knowing how he knew that his senses weren’t adequate for this strange kind of existence–they had no points of reference, nothing to distinguish between light, dark, sound or silence. There was only an awareness of pressure, the pressure of someone else. Something else near him, or surrounding him. It was bizarre, but somehow the instinct to be afraid of the unknown just wasn’t working.

 

 

Strange and confusing, but not entirely unexpected. Devision never really questioned these sort of instances, merely went along with them when they happened. Questioning them in the moment was too much. There would be time to do so after all was said and done. In the meantime, he just went with the flow. Drifting in this odd moment.

 

 

The presence coalesced a little, concentrating some of its existence-stuff into a shape with bright blue optics looking at him. Devision’s psyche recognized but couldn’t name the figure as it spoke. 

 

“Step forward.”

 

 

Devision could not resist, the voice so compelling and strong. The petite Seeker did as directed without thought. Following through the command as if on autopilot. He moved forward towards the voice. 

 

“Yes?” The shy Seeker spoke up, unsure of all this but still not questioning it yet.

 

“You will be afraid,” the towering figure told him. “When the time comes, step forward.”

 

 

Then the vision was gone and Devision’s optics popped open to see the side of his nest in Jazz’s apartment. The lid was open but the blankets were tucked and wrapped around his body tightly enough to resist the uncoordinated movement of dreaming.  
When the time comes, for what? Devision lay still, silent in his reflection, trying to contemplate the meaning of what he’d seen, to process it further… but he did not understand.

 

 

What did it mean? Step forward for what? What would he be afraid of-and when-besides everyone? Cybertronians were scary… not just the Autobots, but Decepticons as well...at least, in the past they had always been. And most were still. What was he to make of this?

**Author's Note:**

> I am still getting the hang of this site, so there's likely to be editing errors and such. Please bear with me. If you notice them, it would be helpful to have them pointed out. I'll correct them when I have the chance. Thanks.


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